


of sunrises, cigar smoke, and cassiopeia

by BilvyBeckett



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jesse-centric - Freeform, M/M, the jesse/hanzo isn't until ch.3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-21 09:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11355060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BilvyBeckett/pseuds/BilvyBeckett
Summary: A FEW FACTS ABOUT JESSE MCCREE:1. He has always been clever for his age2. Ma told him he would one day do great things3. His Ma never liesor,Jesse McCree from the beginning





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> wow, so I started by wanting to write a short little thing and ended up with 20k words. It'll be 3 chapters, and I'll post them all within the next couple days.  
> this is my first dive into overwatch (and only my second into fic at all). if you see any mistakes, let me know and i'll fix them as this is 100% unbetaed!
> 
> pls enjoy!!!!

It starts like this:

Ma pushes Jesse’s crying sister into his arms and tells him to run. His hands are trembling, but he grips Isabella’s blanket tight and tucks her against his chest. His vision is hazy and Ma has tears running down her face. She makes Jesse promise to get as far away as he can, to not come back. He doesn’t stop himself from turning on his heel and sprinting down the street. Jesse has always been a very good listener, after all.

So he runs away. Away from the small, blue-trimmed house under the warm sun of New Mexico. Away from the heavy footfalls of a man he never stooped to calling father (as if Joel had ever deigned himself to acting like one). Away from his mother, with her home-cooked meals and her cinnamon scented hugs.

Jesse is a block down the street when he hears fireworks. But it’s October, and a Wednesday, and barely past noon. He closes his eyes and tries to forget the shotgun Joel always threatened him and Ma with. He keeps running.

 

**A FEW FACTS ABOUT JESSE MCCREE:**

**1\. He has always been clever for his age  
** **2\. Ma told him he would one day do great things  
** **3\. His Ma never lies**

 

Jesse may have been top of his class, and the first to figure out Aunt Mary’s riddles, but he was never taught what to do with a wailing, parentless baby. Normally, whenever Izzy would start crying, Joel would scream at Ma until she swept Izzy into her arms, rocking her into silence. Jesse is rocking her and she is only getting louder. His arms are tired.

He ends up at the hospital, the one Ma worked at before she had Izzy. He doesn’t recognise the staff rushing around the ER, and he can’t tell if they can recognise him. He’s thirteen now, yet to grow into his limbs but still round in the face with the same baby fat that clung to his bones three years ago.

A woman with her hair pulled back into a bun and a metal name tag that says “Amita” sits behind a curved desk. Jesse can remember her smile and the way her eyes light up when she speaks. She is a familiar face in a sea of strangers. When she catches sight of Jesse, Izzy still screaming in his arms, she is out of her chair and rushing toward him.

“Jesse, darling, what are you doing here?” Her hands are warm. “Where’s your mother?”

Jesse takes a very, very deep breath.

He is swept away in arms and worried looks, passed between the hands of Amita, then nurses, and the police, but the hospital smells more like antiseptic than it does cinnamon.

They find Joel and Ma dead in the front hall of the small, blue-trimmed house, their heads blown across the walls by the shotgun in Joel’s guilty hands. When the police escort Jesse to gather his belongings, they forcefully steer him away from the front entrance smeared in brain matter.

◆ ◆ ◆

Jesse decides that he doesn’t much like funerals. His family is there, which is nice. Aunt Mary tucks him against her hip, wiping her eyes with messy balls of tissue.

“I wish she had told me, or that I had figured out sooner, I just…” Aunt Mary is an ugly crier.

Jesse thinks Aunt Mary probably wouldn’t have believed Ma if she had said anything about Joel. He was always good at being charming when he needed to be. If nothing else, Aunt Mary certainly wouldn’t have done anything to change it.

Jesse tries to hide the fact that he’s crying when they lower Ma’s casket into the soil, but there are only so many tears he can wipe away before they become overwhelming. By the time the priest is finished speaking and the grave is being filled, Jesse is sobbing, the taste of salt dripping over his lips, down off his chin. Izzy is asleep in his arms, wrapped in the same blanket she was wrapped in a week ago. Jesse watches a teardrop splash on her cheek.

Amita has been keeping Jesse at her home after he begged her not to make him stay with Aunt Mary. His aunt is a wonderful woman, but Jesse knows two extra kids are too much on top of his four cousins. Amita’s wife, Rani, makes stew that’s rich and warm with turmeric and cardamom, and he gets a bed that’s softer than the one he had before, and double the size. Their house glows orange from the inside out, and feels like home is supposed to feel. When Jesse stands in the bathroom, yellow light dancing across his skin, he can’t help but shift his weight to his heels, seeing the stark contrast of him against the delicate backdrop.

 

**PICTURE THIS:**

**A boy that is sharp edges  
** **and too long limbs  
** **stands in a yellow bathroom  
** **with yellow lights  
** **and orange towels.  
** **He feels his lungs fill  
** **up with turquoise.**

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

It is nearing December when Jesse decides he has long overstayed his welcome. He packs his meager belongings (his mom’s hat, his old leather bound notebook, the new clothes Amita and Rani bought him), grabs a box of granola bars from the pantry cupboard, and prepares himself to leave the place he got used to calling home.

Izzy is asleep in her bed, and he kisses her oh-so-soft on the forehead. He stands in the cozy living room, digging his toes into the plush carpet and breathing in the scent of familiarity and family. He hoists his bag to his shoulder, casting one last longing look across the house. When he finally leaves, he does not look back, forcing himself to run away instead of falling once again into the house’s warm embrace.

 

**A MISSED MOMENT:**

**Amita and Rani come home  
** **with pizza and good news  
** **in the form of adoption papers  
** **hard won from the courts.**

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

Deadlock is not kind. It does not care if he goes hungry for days, it does not care if he keels over and rots in a ditch, it does not care that he is only thirteen and should not have a revolver nestled into the palm of his hand.

Jesse can appreciate that.

Andre is tall and blonde and lithe. He rules by fear and beautifully composed rhetoric, rather than strength. He leaves fighting to his subordinates. Jesse has never spoken to anyone smarter, and Andre certainly does love speaking with Jesse.

Jesse learns that he’s a hell of a shot; it’s one of the things Andre has told him and Andre is always right about those kinds of things. He shows Jesse how to keep a steady hand, exhale when firing. He presses a little too close to Jesse’s back. Jesse bites his tongue and doesn’t protest, terrified he’ll be kicked to the curb. Or worse.

Andre sweeps Jesse into his life, forcefully adopting him as an apprentice. He begins to mold Jesse into the perfect weapon (all charm, all bite). Deadlock is a strong enterprise and it needs a strong foundation. Andre promises that Jesse, Peacekeeper in hand, is that foundation.

Jesse doesn’t see the appeal of being the leader of a criminal empire. It comes with far too much responsibility, and a deluge of assassination attempts. Jesse should know, he’s taken enough bounties on the heads of rival gang leaders. But Andre smiles when he says it, and pushes Jesse’s hair back off his face. Jesse has never liked the dampness of Andre’s breath as it creeped up his neck, but it was better than fists and curses.

  
  


**A CATALOGUE OF ITEMS IN ANDRE’S ROOM:**

**1\. A shiny light blaster  
** **2\. A leather jacket on the back of the door  
** **3\. A window overlooking the canyon  
** **4\. Don’t think about the mirror  
** **5\. Don’t think about the bed**

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

“You should take off that hat, sweetheart, it hides your pretty eyes.” Andre’s voice is like burnt sugar. Jesse keeps his mouth shut.

“Come on, Jesse, don’t you care what I think?” Andre says.

“I don’t keep you here just to ignore me!” Andre says.

“I told you to take off the fucking hat,” Andre says.

Jesse wonders what would happen if he left Deadlock behind. There is a blade pressed to his throat that tells him Andre would not let him leave quietly.

Andre’s fingers press tight around Jesse’s windpipe. It’s always too much for too little. The pressure gets sharper, the blade cuts a sliver into his skin, just enough for blood to bead, for Jesse to cry out softly.

Andre apologises, like he always does. He promises he only wants the best for Jesse, that he can only do so much in the face of Jesse’s uncooperative nature. He says that Jesse is destined for great things.

Jesse doesn’t really want great things, anymore. He would settle for good, or happy, or safe.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

This is not Jesse’s first firefight, but it is the first one where his opponents are dressed in full tactical gear. He watches the members of Deadlock fall around him, littered with bullet holes. Jesse ducks his head behind the flipped diner table he’s using as cover. His allies fall. And fall and fall and fall and

Andre surrenders.

Jesse didn’t expect much else, if he’s being honest. Andre has always been a narcissistic asshole. The type of man to take a safe jail cell over the cold honour of death. With Andre down for the count, the rest of Deadlock is quick to follow. Some give a similar white flag of submission, some turn instead to stubborn suicide.

Jesse thinks about fighting until a well placed bullet puts him out of his misery, but instead he puts his hands up and doesn’t resist while a gruff woman puts him in handcuffs. He’s shoved into the back of a van. Andre is seated across from him, and he hisses that Jesse is a coward for surrendering.

“When I get my hands on you, you’ll be dead, you fucking bastard,” He screams, “You hear me, Jesse? I’ll kill you myself!”

He’s always been a terrible hypocrite too, Andre. Jesse keeps his eyes on his own knees and ignores Andre’s curses and insults.

Jesse is passed from hand to hand once the vans reach their destination. He sees the Overwatch logo embroidered on the shirt pockets of the people pushing him through the fluorescent, linoleum halls. Eventually, he ends up in a solitary interrogation room, staring up at the one way mirror but only making eye contact with himself. He can hear yelling as he inspects his split lip, blood and dirt caked hair, hollow cheeks and hollow eyes. He doesn’t care to listen.

 

**A CONVERSATION BETWEEN TWO STUBBORN MEN:**

**“He’s a fucking kid, Jack, what am I  
** **supposed to do with him?”  
** **“I don’t care that he’s a kid, he  
** **killed good men today.  
** **He’s old enough to know right  
** **from wrong!”  
** **“I can’t… You know I can’t let  
** **them lock him up.  
** **He’d be dead within a week…”  
** **“Who says that’s a bad thing?”**

 

A man comes into the room, eventually. He is tall and imposing. He sits across the table from Jesse, silent. He places a glass of water on the table and nods at Jesse to drink it. Jesse cocks his head, but accepts the glass. It’s ice cold. 

“My name’s Gabriel Reyes.” The man sounds rough around the edges, tired. “I'm only here because Morrison is making me, so don’t think I’m enjoying this.”

Jesse quietly sips his water. He rubs his free hand along the redness around his wrist, irritated by the cuffs that weigh his arms down. He knows the name Morrison.

“You know, the asshole shoves you onto me, along with a whole stack of paperwork, while he gets showered with praise from the US government for taking down the Deadlock gang. Take a guess as to who brought your boss into Overwatch in shackles, ‘cause it definitely wasn’t Goldenboy over there.

“Anyway, Jack—”

“Jack Morrison, right? Like, the face of Overwatch, Jack Morrison?” Jesse knows this already. He also knows it’s unwise to speak without a lawyer, but a lawyer won’t make him any less guilty on several accounts of murder.

“Yes, Jack Morrison.” Reyes looks confused and vaguely irritated.

“What’s he like?” Jesse asks. His eyes widen when Reyes actually tells him.

Reyes complains about Morrison and his stacks of paperwork for a good thirty minutes before he starts the proper interrogation. Jesse knew it was coming, but it didn’t stop him from cracking a few smiles in the moments beforehand.

“How old are you, kid?”

“23”

Reyes laughs. “Try again.”

There’s a long pause. Jesse stares at the ring of water around the base of his empty glass. A bead of condensation finishes it’s decent down to the table.

“I’m seventeen.”

“You don’t have a lot of options here, and none of them are all that great,” Reyes says to Jesse’s still lowered head, “Either you get tried as an adult, inevitably get a guilty verdict, and go serve a few lifetimes in a maximum security prison, or—”

A beep cuts Reyes off. He grabs his phone from his pocket, glances at the screen quickly as he turns off the ringer, and sets it face down on the table.

“Or, you join me. Become a member of Blackwatch. Atone for some of the shit you’ve done.”

 

**A TEXT FROM JACK MORRISON:**

**“Back down, Gabe”**

 

“I don’t regret killin’ your guys. I’m old enough to know what I’m doin’,” Jesse spits.

“So I’ve been told. Join my team or rot in a jail cell, kid.”

Now, Jesse McCree may be prideful, and may harbour a good deal of misplaced conceit, but he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Being a Blackwatch operative sounds like a much more pleasant alternative than a lifetime in a cramped, cold cell.

He swallows his pride.

“It’s Jesse,” He says.

“What?” Reyes says.

“Jesse McCree,” Jesse pauses, “Boss.”

Reyes smiles.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

The rest of Blackwatch isn’t near as keen on Jesse as Reyes is, but he really can’t blame them either. Jesse is good at dealing with the split knuckles and the black eyes, the sprains and bruises from sparring matches that are on the wrong side of friendly. He doesn’t bring it up to Reyes.

It’s on an infiltration mission in Istanbul when Jesse’s silence finally bites him in the ass. Another agent, Willingham, decides to take the resentment he holds for Jesse beyond playground fights. He leaves Jesse stranded on the top floor of the building, surrounded on all sides as Willingham shuts an iron reinforced door behind him.

If Jesse weren’t so quick on his feet, he would have been dead, but he takes out three of the seven guys before they can notice he’s at a disadvantage. He uses the distraction to make a break for it. A bullet grazes his cheek as he spins and sprints through an open door, into a stairwell. He thanks every deity he can think of for Reyes having had them memorise the building’s floorplan.

He doesn’t make it to the extraction point in time.

Jesse watches the hover jet zip away toward the horizon, while he hears footsteps hurrying up behind him. He makes sure Peacekeeper is loaded and tucks himself behind a parked car to wait out his demise. He barely fights back as the men, assault rifles raised, round the vehicle to his hiding place. It earns him a bullet to the shoulder and another to the gut.

He’s got his final round in the barrel, lifting his gun neatly to his temple to at least give himself a clean death. He starts to let his eyes close, trigger finger heavy, when the bodies advancing on his position fall. He sees a familiar face throughout the blackening haze. A seemingly solid and very convincing image of Gabriel Reyes moves toward him. Jesse guesses that he’s lost enough blood if he's started hallucinating. Huh.

There’s a litany of curses on Reyes’ lips, and he scoops Jesse up off the ground. He has one arm under Jesse’s knees and another under his shoulders. He’s sprinting through the halls, trying to keep his arms steady, but Jesse still cries out as Reyes’ steps pull at his wounds. Jesse curls into Reyes’ chest, warm and solid. It hurts, everything hurts, but it’s also soft and dark. Jesse fades into his fever dream, thinking death isn’t all that bad.

 

**MEANWHILE:**

**Gabriel Reyes clutches a dying seventeen  
** **year old to his chest and prays  
** **that he gets this kid to the jet before  
** **he bleeds out.  
** **Nothing feels more like a bad omen  
** **than blood soaking through his shirt.**

 

Somewhere on the stairwell between the second and first floors, Jesse’s vision blacks out completely. He only has a searing sensation throughout his torso. He would scream if he could get his tongue to work, and when he tries to move away from the source of the excruciating pain, it only gets worse.

He’s changed his mind. Jesse McCree would rather not have to die. At least not yet.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

Jesse wakes to a face he’s never seen before. The woman is haloed in blonde hair with an indent between her eyebrows that doesn’t seem to match her youth. She’s got enough gauze in her hands that she could wrap Jesse’s whole body in it twice over. 

It’s all very red.

Jesse has never considered himself to be squeamish person, but there is something horrifying about seeing so much of his own blood. The woman’s fingers are dancing across his bare torso, scarlet smeared across her gloves. Jesse’s stomach is numb, but he vividly remembers the heat tearing through his flesh.

The woman sees his eyes are open and she suddenly looks extremely concerned. She begins to speak, but there is only ringing in Jesse’s ears. By the look on her face, he reckons she’s yelling at him, but his mind is too far away to focus on the words her lips are forming.

He looks down again at all that red. God, it sure is a lot.

Jesse closes his eyes.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

The blonde woman is still there when Jesse wakes up, though looking at her now he realises she could barely be much older than him. She is sat beside him on a plastic chair instead of hovering over him mid-surgery. She’s got a laptop in front of her that she’s tapping away on. Jesse tries to speak, but only lets out a soft moan. She looks up.

 

**A BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF ANGELA ZIEGLER:**

**There’s a young girl holding two boxes  
** **that carry the ashes of her parents.  
** **She decides in that moment  
** **to save as many children as possible  
** **from the same fate that she had.**

 

“Jesse! You’re awake! It’s nice to see you not covered in blood. I’m Dr. Angela Ziegler, I’m interning here and I had the honour of stitching up all of those holes you earned.” Dr. Ziegler leans forward in her chair, smiling brilliantly.

She tries to explain the nanotechnology that’s helping knit together the three gaping holes in Jesse’s body, currently packed tight with gauze. He’s intriguing and curious, trying to cling to her words, but his focus is shot to hell.

“You’ll have to explain it all again, when I’m a little more present for the conversation. Mind as well as body.” Jesse grins.

Dr. Ziegler laughs and it sounds as rich as chocolate.

“I promise a full lesson later, then," She says.

“Hey, what happened anyway? I don’t remember anything beyond Reyes findin’ me,” Jesse asks.

“Well, you didn’t hear it from me, but I heard Reyes telling Morrison in the debrief that he realised you weren’t with the group as soon as everyone rendezvoused at the extraction point. Reyes had the pilot take up the jet so Talon would let their guard down, while Reyes looped back to find you. You were half dead when he did.” She lays a hand beside Jesse’s. “He’s been in to see you, by the way.”

“Reyes?”

“Who else?”

Jesse’s face falls. He looks away, and clears his throat. “So, uh, Talon, huh? Is that what these assholes are callin’ themselves?”

The conversation drifts away. Eventually, Dr. Ziegler tells Jesse he’ll be free to leave the medical wing tomorrow as long as he stops in for check-up, re-dressing, and lots of physical therapy.

Jesse doesn’t really want to leave.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

Jesse is standing in Reyes’ office, leaning heavily on the crutch under his good arm. His head is down, but he maintains eye contact with Reyes throughout their whole conversation.

“Willingham will be facing severe repercussions for his actions. He will never even  _ think _ of pulling that shit again,” Reyes pauses, “But, McCree… Jesse, we have to have a serious discussion.”

Jesse was waiting for this. His eyes close and he takes a deep breath. He falls to his knees, less than graceful and jostling his wounds. He deserves this; he fell behind, he didn’t complete his orders, he jeopardised the mission and the safety of his team. His fingers are numb as he reaches for Gabe’s belt buckle, hands refusing to stay steady. He can barely breathe.

 

**A CATALOGUE OF ITEMS IN GABRIEL’S ROOM:**

**1\. An old baseball cap  
** **2\. A photo of Reyes, Morrison, and a  
** **woman Jesse doesn’t know  
** **3\. A jar of jellybeans  
** **4\. There’s a couch in the corner  
** **5\. Don’t think about the couch**

 

Jesse isn’t expecting a firm hand on his forehead, pushing him firmly away. Reyes looks disgusted. Jesse isn’t sure what he’s done wrong, what part of him wasn’t good enough. He falls backward, back against the metal door, spouting apologies.

His breath comes shorter, the edges of his vision blur until all he can see is the linoleum tile below him. He can feel everything from the tips of his fingers to the balls of his feet. There are hands on either side of his face, and he thinks he hears buzzing that rings something like Reyes’ voice. A sing song voice in his head that sounds like Dr. Ziegler tells him clinically that he’s probably having a panic attack.

Oh.

This isn’t very good.

He can hear Reyes in the back of his skull. Something about breathing. In and out, that sounds simple enough. In. Out. His head clears, but only a little bit. Reyes tells him to breathe in time with him. Jesse focuses on the rise and fall of Reyes’ chest. His forehead is rested right against it. When did that happen?

It’s solid though, Reyes’ chest.

It takes minutes, hours, days before Jesse starts to feel human again. Reyes is staring him right in the eye when he can finally focus on him. They’re on the floor, the light above them flickering slightly. There’s a long moment of silence before Reyes wraps his arms firmly around Jesse’s shoulders. They sit on the floor for just a bit longer.

“Jesse, why did you have your gun to your head when I found you?” Reyes isn’t using his normal, attention commanding voice. He’s quieter.

“I didn’t wanna die because of them,” Jesse says, voice crumbling, “I wanted it on my own terms.”

Reyes pulls Jesse’s head to his shoulder, thumb rubbing along his neck. “You never have to do anything you don’t want to, Jesse. Anything. Andre Martin isn’t here anymore. He will never touch you  _ ever _ again.”

“How much did he tell you?” Jesse is impossibly quiet. Barely making a sound.

“Enough.”

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

Jesse meets Ana Amari two weeks after his eighteenth birthday. She introduces herself by putting a two cups of tea and two large pieces of pie on the table in front of him. She sits down and wishes him a happy birthday.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, I can’t say I know who you are,” Jesse says, eyes wide, “No offense or anything.”

She laughs, pushes the plate and mug closer to Jesse. “My name is Ana Amari, Gabe has told me all about you.”

“Only good things, I hope.” Jesse smiles. “It’s lovely to meet you, Ms. Amari.”

“Technically, it is Captain Amari, but you can just call me Ana,” she says, “Now eat up, you look like they’re starving you.”

Jesse eats his pie (which is definitely store bought) and drinks his tea (mint and honey). Ana sips from her own mug, playing what looks like a game of sudoku on her phone between bites of pie. She is smiling softly and Jesse wonders if it’s just her normal expression or if she’s simply trying to be less intimidating.

“Why didn’t I meet you any sooner? You and Reyes are close are you not?” Jesse asks as he finishes his last bite of pie, “He’s got a picture of you, him and Morrison on his desk.”

“I have been at the Swiss headquarters being a glorified tour guide. On the bright side, UN officials are very easy to charm, and my flattery and hard work for Overwatch a bigger budget,” Ana says.

“I don’t suppose any of that’ll go to Blackwatch,” Jesse mutters into his mug.

“Now, I am not in charge of that side of things, but I wouldn’t get any hopes up.”

They sit in comfortable silence until Ana is called away. She makes Jesse promise that they’ll speak again. She makes Jesse promise that they’ll speak again, and soon. Jesse smiles and crosses his heart.

They have tea every Tuesday and Friday when they’re both at the Watchpoint.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

Ana’s daughter, Fareeha, likes to steal Jesse’s hat during breakfast.

 

**OTHER THINGS FAREEHA AMARI LIKES:**

**1\. French fries with vinegar  
** **2\. Braiding beads, feathers and  
** **flowers into hair  
** **3\. Angela Ziegler**

 

Fareeha is thirteen years old but acts five years her senior. Jesse has one conversation with her before he decides that they will get along spectacularly.

Fareeha makes Jesse sit through bad movies (she particularly likes actions films), and Jesse drags Angela along just to watch Fareeha blush. Angela brings along stacks of paperwork and various research projects. She lets Jesse read through them under the guise of proofreading. Most of the time it ends in Jesse asking countless questions and Angela happily explaining them. Angela always says that a sign of a good paper is being able to explain it to someone who isn’t in her field.

It’s a Saturday. They’re watching an old spy movie, Fareeha braiding Jesse’s hair and Angela marking through a paper with a sea of red ink, when Morrison sweeps into the room and steals Angela away with nothing more than a firm, “Dr. Ziegler, a moment.”

Jesse and Fareeha share a look. An echo of Ana saying “curiosity is to be encouraged” can practically be heard through the room. They wait barely a moment before they follow Morrison and Angela out of the room and down the hall. Jesse is a little less than stealthy, so he lets Fareeha slip ahead, light on her feet. Morrison ushers Angela into a briefing room, one that looks packed full, and shuts the door behind him.

Jesse and Fareeha push their ears to the door.

“There’s been several bombings across New York. An estimate of 200 dead, hundreds injured. Talon claimed responsibility within an hour. All the areas that were attacked were communities known to advocate for omnic rights. Every organisation with a comprehensive medical team is being enlisted into crisis management.” Morrison sounds like the commander he’s supposed to be. “Now, I know we’re stretched thin as far as actual doctors, but all of you are trained in traumatic first air. Now’s the time to put it to practice.

“Pack your bags. Wheels up in twenty.”

There’s movement on the other side of the door. Jesse and Fareeha jump back to let the door swing open. Reyes is the first one out and he doesn’t look pleased when he sees them.

“What’s goin' on, sir?” Jesse asks, attempting to be the picture of innocence.

“Now, if you were meant to know, don’t you think you would have been invited, kid?” Reyes raises an eyebrow.

“Reyes, sir, if there’s something goin' on, I want in!” 

“Why is it you only call me sir when you need something,” Reyes sighs, “I’ll talk to Jack, but don’t have any expectations, kid.”

He hurries off in the rush of people, Jesse shouting a “thank you” in his wake.

Twenty minutes later, several jets take off while Jesse and Fareeha stay on the ground.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

It is three weeks of an empty Watchpoint. Angela texts them on a regular basis, giving them live updates of the situation on the ground. Jesse and Fareeha spend their time flipping through various newscasts, watching as the death toll in New York rises from 218 to 387, then 423, then 497. Fareeha braids Jesse’s hair while they video call Ana.

When everyone comes back to the Watchpoint, it is in very morose silence.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

Jesse has never been to California. When the jet touches down, they step onto molten tarmac and breathe lung-fulls of Los Angeles smog. Reyes claps Jesse on the shoulder as he walks past him, and Jesse skitters along behind him.

They go to the Watchpoint far South on the coast, and Jesse stares out at an unending collage of blues and doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to staring at the ocean. There are gulls picking at the concrete, and the smell of salt and rotting kelp hangs in the air. It’s quieter than Switzerland’s Point, an easy current of activity that leaves the atmosphere undisturbed. Jesse feels out of place, loud and stumbling through fluorescent halls.

Reyes drags him to three meetings and one mission brief before they start the long drive to San Francisco. Reyes drives along the coast and Jesse keeps his eyes on the ebb and flow of the water. They only stop briefly for snacks and bathroom breaks, making the eight hour trip into a six hour one.

San Francisco beckons Jesse closer with slanted streets and bright sidewalks. Reyes buys them dinner at a tiny bistro. They sit in the window, glowing orange in the setting sun, and eat sandwiches on still warm bread. They drop their bags off at a hotel with towering windows and soft beds. There’s a vibrance to the city that Jesse hasn’t ever felt before.

The port is a different story. Jesse and Reyes huddle down for a long night’s stake-out in the muddy inbetween of sea and city. Boats trudge in and out of the docks, cranes pile crates tall on the barges, workers in highlighter orange lumber through menial tasks. Jesse opens a can of soda and a bag of chips and settles into the passenger seat of their little navy car. 

“I grew up here, you know?” Reyes breaks the silence.

“San Francisco?” Jesse asks.

“Here and LA, yeah. My first job was at a Starbucks on Market Street. I worked there till I joined the army, and then Overwatch.”   


“How bad was the Omnic Crisis here?” Jesse tilts his head toward Reyes.

“Bad enough that I felt the need to fight back. San Francisco avoided a lot of the fallout but LA wasn’t so lucky. There were plenty of protests as well, lots of impassioned people with their own agendas, politics getting in the way of public safety. There was a massacre at a sit in at City Hall, 150 dead, and I decided it was my responsibility to keep the citizens of my home safe.” Reyes sighs.

“Were you there? At the protest?” Jesse asks.

The conversation cuts short as Reyes surges out of his seat, pistol in hand. “They’re starting early, kid. Let’s go!” 

Seven masked Talon members storm the docks to a large barge that Jesse knows is carrying enough firepower to level a city. Overwatch sent them specifically to protect the shipment of munitions before it left for Japan

“There’s only seven of them,” Jesse says.

“I guess they needed bodies elsewhere. Keep close, let’s get this over with quickly,” Gabe huffs as he moves through the shadows of stacked boxes.

They apprehend the Talon members as they’re climbing a ladder to the ship’s dock. When Reyes shouts out to them, the member still on the dock rushes to a nearby worker and hold a gun to his head, while the others try to scramble up the ladder.

It’s over so fast.

The bullet enters the worker’s head and he falls dead to the wood planks of the dock. Jesse’s world narrows. This has happened before. It’s what caught Andre’s eye all those years ago. When Jesse’s head shakes out of it, Peacekeeper is empty and there are six dead Talon members around him. The seventh is tucked up on the ship’s deck, and Jesse can hear him speaking through a comm asking for backup.

Reyes curses and drags Jesse toward the ladder. “Up we go, I’ll cover you. It’ll be easier to deal with one asshole than several.”

Jesse hurries up the rungs, Peacekeeper still warm in his hand. The man at the top does not look overboard to see Jesse approaching, and when he bounds over the rail, the man barely has a moment to be surprised before Jesse has smashed the butt of his gun against his temple. The mask remains emotionless as the man hits the ground.

Reyes comes up the ladder moments later and tears the man’s mask off so he doesn’t suffocate in the rubber. Jesse knows that this is their sole bargaining chip, their only escape from the onslaught en route. Sandy blond hair with freckled, sun worn skin greets them. Jesse curses when he sees his face, seeing a boy who couldn’t be older than fifteen.

“Like looking in a mirror, hey kid?” Reyes says.

Jesse swallows and hopes they make it out of this alive.

It’s less than three minutes before Talon’s reinforcements swarm in. The blond kid is blinking awake, eyes bleary green with one pupil blown. When he sees the barrel of Peacekeeper aimed at his forehead he bursts into tears.

He blubbers apologies, but Jesse can barely catch any of the words. Reyes is yelling at the Talon members on the docks, not daring to peek over the rail at them. He offers the kid’s life for his and Jesse’s. The answering call is gunfire.

“Guess you’re not worth as much as we hoped, darlin’.” Jesse smiles at the kid.

There’s a crack in the air. Jesse can feel his hair stand up on the back of his neck. 

Reyes screams to get down and the world goes up in flames.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

When Jesse was six years old, Ma drove him down to his favourite restaurant in Santa Fe and gave him a hat that was a little worn along all the edges. She told him it was hers, but she wanted him to have it instead.

A week later, she and Joel got married. Jesse brought rings down the aisle, and smiled when his mother said “I do”. Jesse was scared of Joel (that never stopped), but Ma seemed to be happy and that was what mattered to him. Jesse was young, and when his mother smiles he believed it to be true.

 

**THINGS JESSE CAN’T SEE:**

**1\. The bruises along his mother’s ribs  
** **2\. The moment when he looks away from Ma’s smile  
** **3\. The shotgun that hasn’t yet threatened him**

 

The first time Joel hits Ma in front of Jesse, it is his seventh birthday. There is still icing on his cheeks, and his mother moves to clean him off. She tells Joel that she’s taking Jesse to go see a movie that night. Seven years old and sugar sleepy, Jesse can’t follow the shouts between them. He can follow Joel’s hand, though, as it swings down upon Ma’s face. His ring catches her cheek and tears through the flesh.

Joel doesn’t bother hiding after that.

The first time Jesse stands up for Ma, he gets the shit kicked out of him, but Ma stays safe. His left arm still aches from where Joel snapped the bones in his forearm and didn’t set it right afterward.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

Jesse’s left arm aches, and he thinks it’s the decade old burn of old, fragile bones. There is a thick smoke billowing into the air, and he’s soaked from head to toe. He can feel something solid under his back, and see Reyes’ exhausted form grasping onto a wooden palette. Jesse’s makeshift stretcher.

Reyes heaves himself half onto the palette and his eyes close. Jesse calls his name, tries to reach his aching arm toward him. It doesn’t bend when he asks. He tries so hard. Reyes’ eyes don’t open.

Reyes is barely breathing. Jesse can see blood leaking from his mouth, from his stomach, along his arms.

Reach, Jesse, just lift your fucking arm.

He looks down to see the damage on himself. Bruised, bloody, tired down to his core. He looks at his arm.

He only sees red in the place of his hand.

 

**A RESCUE NO ONE WITNESSES:**

**A boy with sandy hair and a freckled face  
** **dives into icy waters and drags his enemies  
** **to shore. He calls an ambulance with  
** **a waterlogged phone, holding wounds  
** **shut on two dying strangers.  
** **He bleeds out before the paramedics  
** **get to the shrapnel riddling his chest.**


	2. Chapter 2

When Jesse is 24, he meets a kid with nothing but rage flowing through his veins.

Genji Shimada is dragged into the Swiss headquarters half dead and falling apart. Jesse watches Angie crumble under the pressure of putting all of Shimada’s bits and pieces back together. She barely sleeps, building revolutionary prosthesis and cybernetics to gift Shimada full mobility. Jesse keeps her company when he can, passing over tools that she needs and maintaining a steady stream of caffeine and nutrition.

When Jesse isn’t around, Fareeha is. She’s the only one who’s been able to convince Angie to get any sleep, so on particularly bad nights, Jesse makes tea instead of coffee and lets Fareeha take over after midnight.

The first time Jesse speaks to Shimada, it is halfway though a sparring match. Shimada, it seems, is still getting used to the metallic grind of his new limbs, and the strength the carbon reinforcements grant him. He pins Jesse to the mat by his throat, and only stops when Jesse is bright red and desperately reaching to pull his arm away.

Shimada jumps backward as though he’s been burnt.

“I— I am sorry. I am not used to,” He heaves a sigh and gestures wildly down at the tubes and metal plates on his body, “I am not used to any of this. I apologise.”

Jesse rubs his throat. “I think that one’s gonna bruise.”

There’s a beat. Shimada gets to his feet, reaches a hand out to help Jesse up as well.

“We were never properly introduced,” Shimada says while heaving Jesse up, “My name is Shimada Genji.”

“Jesse McCree.” Jesse shakes Genji’s hand. “I’ve heard plenty about you from Ang. Dr. Ziegler, I suppose, for you.”

“You’re friends with the good doctor?” Behind the shiny mask and under all the scars, Genji’s eyes seem a little bit brighter.

“I reckon I am, yeah,” Jesse laughs, “How are you likin’ it here so far?”

“Overwatch saved my life. I’m indebted to them regardless of my stance toward the organisation.” Genji still has that lightness around his voice, though Jesse can see the tension below his skin.

“Let me tell you, I know a thing or two about that. Say, you want an insider tour of the Watchpoint? I’m sure you haven’t gotten to see much of it.”

Genji smiles. “I’d like that.”

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

“I gotta hand it to you, boss, you have a penchant for taking in angry kids with troubled pasts,” Jesse says to Gabe, lounging back on the spinning chair behind Gabe’s desk.

Gabe is standing sitting on the windowsill, smoking and flipping through a stack of paperwork from Morrison.

“I reckon you turned out alright. It’s time I get a replacement because you’re not near as scrappy, nor as angry as you used to be,” Gabe laughs.

“You wound me, boss. If Ana could hear you, she’d give you a right lecture about child abandonment. We all know that’s somethin’ you don’t wanna be on the receiving end of.” Jesse spins in his chair.

“You’ll be the death of me, kid.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way, boss.”

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

Jesse takes Genji under his wing. He can see all the same anger and hatred and futility in Genji that he had when he joined Blackwatch. In between missions, they train together, they eat together. They share a room and Jesse drags Genji along to movie nights with Fareeha and Angie.

But Genji doesn’t stop being angry. Months after their first sparring match, Genji and Jesse are sitting on the roof of the Point, staring over the valley it resides atop of. Jesse’s got shitty cigarettes that they’re sharing and Genji brought a bottle of cheap whiskey to pass between them. The stars are out, but they can barely see them through the light pollution of the Point.

“My brother has left the Shimada Clan,” Genji whispers between sips and drags.

“This the same brother that tried to kill you? Why do you care what he’s doin'?” Jesse asks, staring down at Genji’s scarred face.

“At first, I thought maybe he was tracking me down. To finish the job, you know? Now, I think he’s fleeing.” Genji frowns, takes a long swig from the bottle of whiskey. “I know revenge is a less than noble endeavor but—”

He lays back onto the roof, staring straight up at the moon. Jesse glances at him and tilts his own body back, feeling cool metal against the back of his right arm. He tries to find Cassiopeia amidst the barely there stars and fails.

“Jesse, do you think it’s wrong to want this? To want my brother to suffer? To want the Shimada Clan to burn to the ground?” Genji looks over at Jesse, eyes shining and cheeks red.

“I’ve done my fair share of less than noble things, Genj. I think wantin’ some sort of consequence for the guy who was hellbent on fratricide is far from bein’ a bad thing.” Jesse blows smoke into the air. “It’s about wantin’ justice for what was done to you. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with justice.”

Jesse and Genji stumble back to their room drunk and fuzzy around all the edges. Jesse has to hold Genji up, partially because of the alcohol but mostly because he’s not coordinated enough with his prosthesis to move fluidly while intoxicated. They fall onto their respective beds still dazed, off kilter even without being upright.

“Jesse?”

“Yeah, Genj?”

“Thank you.”

Jesse nearly asks what for but Genji’s breath has already evened out into the depths of sleep.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

It is June when Fareeha sits behind him, braiding his hair, and she says she’s going to join the military. There’s a brief moment that Jesse is upset, angry even, but the hurricane calms quickly. When he asks why she doesn’t just join Overwatch, she scoffs.

“How much do you really think I’d get to do with my mother as second in command?” She asks. “I love Overwatch, and the people here, and the ideals it holds, but I want to change the world, Jesse. I can’t do that here.”

“Have you told Angie yet?”

Fareeha falls silent. The news is playing on the television. A woman pleads to the screen and a dozen reporter’s microphones to bring her kidnapped baby home safe. The next headline is about Null Sector in London. Jesse’s barely paying attention, instead having turned his head to properly face Fareeha.

“She’ll miss you, you know?” He smiles, despite the glow of hurt in his eyes.  _ I’ll miss you, too _ goes unspoken. “And you never know. Distance makes the heart grow fonder or whatever, maybe you’ll come home and she’ll love you right back.”

“It’s not love, Jesse, it’s infatuation. Nothing more than a schoolyard crush.” She sighs and threads her fingers through Jesse’s hair. “She sees me as a sister. A  _ little  _ sister at that. Four years still seems like a lot right about now.”

“It’s closer to five years, actually.”

Fareeha pulls on his hair.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

Gabe sets a file down in front of Jesse at breakfast and waits patiently for Jesse to finish his toast and begin reading. Jesse barely gets a page in before his eyes widen. His hands aren’t shaking. Not at all.

“He got out?” Jesse asks, breathless.

Andre’s mugshot stares up at him. Split lip and cocky smile. The file says he’s started up a new faction of Deadlock, right back on his home turf in New Mexico. Jesse can’t breathe.

“You said he’d be locked up for life!” Jesse stands from the table, pushes Gabe by the shoulders, “You said!”

Gabe has the decency to look guilty.

“Look, kid, if you’re gonna make a scene, do you at least wanna step out?” Gabe scratches the back of his neck.

“Make a scene? What did you expect of me, Gabe, to sit quietly and fucking accept this, no questions asked?” If Jesse were more present in this moment, he would surely be embarrassed by the sheer amount people staring at them. In the heat of his anger, he couldn’t care less.

“Come on, let’s go.” Gabe grabs him by the collar and pulls. Jesse follows, but keeps yelling, drawing more eyes and worried looks. Gabe takes them to the roof, as it’s closer than his office.

 

**A MOMENT WHEN THE WORLD STOPS:**

**Jesse McCree looks over the metallic walls  
** **of the Watchpoint. He leans over the edge of  
** **the roof and it takes everything in Gabe’s body  
** **not to drag him backwards.  
** **Jesse feels these walls betray him  
** **and leave him for dead.**

 

Gabe doesn’t interfere when Jesse swings himself backward and curls up against one of the vent outputs, gripping his hair tight and letting heaving sobs tear his way through his chest.  Gabe sits down, though, presses his shoulder against Jesse’s to reassure him he’s there.

“I want you to come with me to take them down. No prisoners this time, we’ll make sure they’re all dead,” Gabe says softly, once the worst of Jesse’s panic attack is over.

“There’s no way Morrison will greenlight that,” Jesse mutters, still sniffing and wiping his red cheeks with his sweater sleeve.

“I’ll worry about all the semantics and paperwork, okay? I’m gonna be going out there no matter what, with or without you. I just figure I’d offer you the chance to deliver yourself some justice.” Gabe’s hand is steady and solid on Jesse’s shoulder.

Jesse nods. “I’ll be there, boss, wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

They stay on the roof, listening to morning drills, to the sound of people running from one end of the Point to the other, to Athena announcing messages, calls and summons over the speaker systems.

“How’d he get out?” Jesse asks, once the silence is too heavy.

“I guess he didn’t lose all his connections from his glory days. There was a large scale prison break and he was one of the many who got out. Certain sources are saying it was Talon’s doing,  but it’s too messy for their usual MO. Someone who was relatively amateur is definitely the culprit,” Gabe explains.

It makes sense. Jesse knew the names and faces of every member of Deadlock, and he was very aware that a few had fallen through the cracks. All the big names were dead or behind bars, but that doesn’t mean one of the lackeys couldn’t have found the means to get Andre free again.

Jesse’s hands do not, do not, do not shake.

“So, when do we leave?”

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

Jesse does not hesitate when they find Andre. He knocks him down to his knees, drags a fist through long (longer than it used to be) blond hair. Jesse let’s his breath ghost up Andre’s neck the way Andre used to do for him. Jesse hopes it instills the same sense of fear and dread in his bones.

“Remember me, fucker?” Jesse whispers.

Andre doesn’t get a chance to reply before his brains are blown out across the floor, gore clinging to Jesse’s cheeks and fingers where he stood close enough to feel the blast, to feel the life leave Andre’s body.

Reyes finds him standing over Andre’s crumpled corpse and doesn’t mention the tears on Jesse’s cheeks.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

They’re in a restaurant in Santa Fe that Jesse suggested, mostly because it used to be his favourite, but also because it’s cheap. The old diner still has the best milkshakes, and their burgers drip thick grease over Jesse’s hands. Gabe keeps stealing his fries, and doesn’t flinch when Jesse tries to bat his hands away.

The door opens with a sweet sounding chime and Jesse’s world stops moving for the second time in less than a week. Gabe tilts his head in confusion and turns to follow Jesse’s gaze.

 

**AN UNEXPECTED SIGHT:**

**Amita and Rani look the same  
** **but Isabella is tall and  
** **smiling and framed with chesnut  
** **hair. She doesn’t notice her  
** **brother, ten feet away  
** **and remembering a baby wrapped  
** **up in a blanket.**

 

“She’s all grown up, now,” Jesse mutters, barely audible over the music playing over tinny speakers and the chatter of other restaurant goers, “She’s…”

Isabella is thirteen years old now. Her birthday would have been just last month. Jesse always remembers the day and hopes his baby sister is okay.

And here she is.  _ So  _ okay. Smiling and leaning into Amita’s side as they get a table for three. She’s holding Rani’s hand, and laughing, and moving, and  _ living _ , and Jesse isn’t really sure what to do. Does he talk to them? Do they even know he’s alive?

He doesn’t even have to think of it, because in the midst of his staring, Amita glances over at their table. Her eyes narrow (as if she’s seen this before, got her hopes up and had them shattered one too many times) before they widen. She gasps loud enough that it’s audible across the room.

“Jesse?” She breathes.

That’s all it takes. He’s on his feet and running towards her. She doesn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around him, engulfing him in warmth and home and orange zest just like she used to. They’re both crying, and Rani is about to once she realises what’s happening. Izzy is confused.

“We thought you were dead! Word got out about the dismantle of Deadlock, and we’d seen your photo in the paper, but we couldn’t get anyone to tell us the names of the members they caught,” Amita cries, “We thought we’d lost you, Jesse!”

“You’re not angry? I left! I became a criminal!” Jesse is still red eyed.

“Of course we’re angry, but you’re alive!”

They end up at the same table, eating the greasy diner food while Jesse tells the whole story in excruciating detail. Reyes jumps in on occasion to fill the gaps that Jesse doesn’t know to fill, but he mostly seems content to sit and watch the family reunion play out. When Izzy hears that this is the brother she’s only ever heard about, she gets considerably more interested in the stories.

Amita falls back into blubbering tears whenever Jesse mentions something particularly terrible that happened, and Rani keeps a tight grip on his flesh hand that she refuses to relinquish. They ask about his arm, and his new scars, and about his new home at Overwatch.

They don’t ask him to stay, and Jesse is grateful that he didn’t have to struggle through saying no to such a request. They do make him promise to contact them though.

“Once a month, at least!” Rani insists.

“Once a week would be even better,” Amita says, “but I suppose we can forgive you if you’re busy.”

When they land back on the tarmac of the Swiss headquarters, Jesse sends a message to say he got home safe. Amita responds with a heart and Jesse feels himself warm to the bone.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

“You never told me you had a sister!” Fareeha yells, her voice tinny over the video call.

“It just never came up?” Jesse shrugs, looking at his own image instead of the camera lens.

“All those serious, late night conversations about your mom, and mine, and our families and you never thought to go ‘oh, and I have a sister, her name’s Isabella.’” Fareeha looks genuinely annoyed.

Jesse gets it, kind of. They had got to a point where they told each other everything. There were no secrets between the two of them, no matter how awful they thought the secrets were. But Jesse isn’t kidding when he says it didn’t come up. There was just never the right opportunity to bring up Izzy.

It definitely wasn’t because he’d been afraid to think of her. Absolutely not.

Jesse and Fareeha only talk a bit longer. She’s on such a tight schedule between training that she barely has any time to spare. It’s only a thirty minute call by the time Fareeha hangs up with a hasty, “love you, Jesse, talk to you tomorrow”.

Something heavy settles in Jesse’s chest. Gabe finds him like that, in the rec room at 2am, staring at a black tablet screen. He drags Jesse bodily back to bed.

Jesse does not sleep soundly.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

Fareeha calls daily, and the rock in Jesse’s stomach gets heavier the more she talks about her friends leaving for actual missions. Genji tells him he’s just worried. That it’s just a fraternal instinct kicking in.

Fareeha tells him she’s being deployed to deal with the Anubis god program. When the call ends, Jesse spends several hours locked in the bathroom, sweating and vomiting until he’s pale, weak and shaky. Angie knocks a couple times to make sure he’s still alive. She sounds nearly as awful as he feels. Genji talks through the door for a little bit in the afternoon. He stays unbothered otherwise.

He stumbles out at seven in the evening and Gabe is waiting for him, leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom door.

“Hey boss, fancy meeting you here,” Jesse slurs.

“I guess you heard the news?” Gabe says while wrapping an arm around Jesse’s shoulders. He begins to press firm in the direction of the Point’s rooms. “Ana is real proud of her… As am I, I guess. It’s weird, thinking about the girl who grew up in the halls of Overwatch’s headquarters, off fighting somewhere else.”

“She should be here, with us. At least I’d be able to keep an eye on her,” Jesse says.

“None of that. She’s more self-sufficient than half of your teammates. She’ll keep an eye on herself.”

Jesse knows this. Fareeha is headstrong and stubborn in all the ways that make her unstoppable. She’s a force of nature driven by sheer determination. She has so much to live up to, hiding in a shadow as looming as her mother’s, and she’s done so by being loud and confident.

Jesse knows this.

He worries anyway.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

“I’ve almost destroyed all the remnants of the Shimada Clan,” Genji says, three day after Jesse’s 26th birthday. They are sitting on the roof again.

“What’s left to get rid of?” Jesse asks.

Tonight, they share saké and cigars Jesse bought in France. They taste like tar and cherry. The saké goes down smooth and warms them to their cores.

“My brother,” Genji mutters to the night sky, “He is the final piece and I—” a deep breath, “I know where he is. He’s so predictable. He visits Hanamura on the anniversary of my death, like clockwork every year, but I’m not sure if I can do it, Jesse. If I can stoop to killing my own brother.”

“Didn’t stop him.”

“I am not Hanzo.”

“Genj, it’s up to you. No matter what you choose, I’m sure Hanzo will deserve it.”

“Even if I choose to forgive him?” Genji asks, voice small and innocent.

Jesse stops, cigar clasped between his teeth as he rings himself in smoke. Genji has been talking about revenge for a few years now. The sound of “forgive” sounds foreign in his voice.

“What has he done to deserve your forgiveness?” Jesse snarls.

“It is hard to say no to what the Elders ask of you. Perhaps he’s seen the error of his ways and wishes for some sort of repentance. He’s been setting vigils for me for years! You can’t redeem yourself when you’re dead.” Genji is solemn.

“I don’t right think he  _ should _ get to redeem himself,” Jesse says, “He killed you, Genji, or at least he was hellbent on it. I think that bastard deserves the worst the world can give and more.”

Genji nods. The stars shine above their heads.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

Gabe sends Jesse to London without Morrison’s approval. Jesse doesn’t question it at the time, always eager to poke at Jack’s nerves, but it is the beginning of something much more sinister.

The London mission goes fine. After Jesse gets ambushed by Null Sector (broken nose, replacement arm, shattered ankle) he’s evacuated by Genji and a full team of Overwatch agents take over instead. Jesse sees Angie in passing and he wishes her luck out on the battlefield through a mouthful of blood. He mentions a couple of the weak spots he saw on Null Sector troops.

It doesn’t stop after London. Gabe is out of the Point more often than he isn’t. He sends his squads out to all corners of the world on covert ops. If he asks Gabe what’s going on, he avoids eye contact and tells Jesse it’s his job to listen to his orders, and it’s Gabe’s job to give those orders out. If Jesse mentions them to Ana, she says she hasn’t heard anything about them.

“I’m just worried is all. Gabe’s normally pretty forthright with his intentions, y’know?” Jesse says to Ana over tea in December.

“Well, we’ll both have to keep an eye on him. I’m sure it’s nothing, though, Jesse.” Ana smiles.

They talk about Fareeha, who has decided to join Helix Security, and Angie, who’s working on commercialising her nanobot technology to be used in ordinary hospitals and procedures. Ana talks about the missions she’s been sent on, and the recruits she’s been training. Oxton is apparently on Morrison’s radar, though Ana thinks she’s too easily distracted.

Jesse asks about the agent that was kidnapped by Talon, Lacroix. As soon as Ana’s face goes sullen, and she mutters that there’s been no new information of Lacroix’s whereabouts, Jesse changes the subject.

Two days later, Jesse is sent off to Indonesia by Gabe under the pretense of terrorist activity.

A month later it’s Australia. Then Canada. Then Greece, then Japan, then Brazil. The missions get more and more vague, the intel gathered is negligible. Gabe seems scatterbrained, distracted to the point of being incomprehensible in his work.

Jesse tries to talk to him, but Gabe screams at him to leave.

“Get the fuck out, kid. Out of this office, out of this god awful place. Get out while you can, I’m begging you!” Gabe is standing, towering over Jesse. It’s terrifying coming from a man who always went out of his way to make Jesse comfortable.

“Boss, I don’t understand what’s goin’ on with you! Talk to me about it! Me or Ana or Jack. We’re all here for you.” Jesse tries to speak confidently but his voice is small. He doesn’t like what he’s seeing.

“Listen,” Gabe is softer now, “Jesse, there’s a lot of bad stuff going on right now. You can’t trust anyone. Something’s coming. I don’t know what, but it is. I’m doing everything I can to keep this just within Blackwatch, but sometimes corruption like this is too much to stop.”

“Corruption? Gabe, what the fuck are you on about?”

“Promise me, Jesse. Promise me you’ll think critically about what you’re being told, by me, by Jack, by the UN. You’re a smart kid, you don’t need to go down with this ship.” Gabe’s eyes are shining. Jesse swallows.

“No one’s goin’ down with anythin’, Boss.”

“Promise me, Jesse. Please.”

A pause, “Okay, I promise.”

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

Jesse decided a long time ago that he hated funerals.

Ana Amari’s tombstone is beautifully carved marble. She’s buried in a cemetery in Egypt, per her own request. The weather is gorgeous. The sun glints off the engraved stone and dances across the faces of those in the crowd. And it is a large crowd.

Jesse stands a ways back, shoulder pressed tight to Fareeha’s. Angie stands on her other side. Jack and Gabe both make speeches, but Fareeha remains between Jesse and Angie, stoic and unmoving. Gabe comes to them quietly, to see if she wants to say anything, and she shakes her head solemnly.

It’s a closed casket funeral, only silk inside mahogany as there was no body recovered. There are giant bouquets of flowers, the dirt of the ground is freshly churned, the onlookers are all in black. Fareeha wears blue.

When everyone leaves and files back to their cars, Fareeha remains by the sides of Jesse and Angie. She moves forward slowly, toward the marble headstone. She has no flowers, and she doesn’t say any words, but she does dig through her bag and produce a picture frame.

 

**IN A CEMETERY IN EGYPT:**

**Fareeha sets a photograph of  
** **her and her mother on a  
** **beautiful grave. She bows her head  
** **and cries.  
** **Three silhouettes stay in the  
** **cemetery past sundown.**

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

Genji leaves after the last remnants of the Shimada clan have fallen, barring only his brother.

“I refuse to stoop to his level. I’ve decided I’m going to travel the world, for a bit. Do some soul searching. You always said I had a stick up my ass, I figure some skydiving or mountain climbing or swimming with sharks should clear that shit up,” Genji says as he packs a backpack with his meager belongings.

“You can soul search all you want, but you best be sendin’ me updates on the regular.” Jesse laughs, sad to see Genji go, but proud of how far he’s come from the angry kid who Angie put back together.

And Genji does send updates, mostly in the form of photos. A selfie on the Eiffel Tower, from the top of a volcano in Iceland, from a plane, on the coast of South Africa. Occasionally he sends an old fashioned post card with tales of his exploits in China and Russia and Cuba.

It’s June when he sends a letter. Written in ink on thick paper. Jesse reads it twenty times before he really believes it’s Genji’s writing, but it definitely is. He’s settled down with the Shambali monks in Nepal. He’s taken an Omnic named Zenyatta as his mentor. He’s set off on a quest for peace in the face of all the adversity in his life.

It is the last letter Jesse receives from Genji.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

Jesse leaves Overwatch with a heavy heart. He tells Angie to do the same. There’s something lurking in the halls of the organisation. The doom that Gabe still speaks of seems to weigh bodily on Jesse’s shoulders. He’s never been one to believe in prophecy, but he admits that Gabe seems to be telling the truth.

A month later, Blackwatch and its missions are revealed to the public. Allegations of kidnapping, torture, and murder are thrown into the public eye. Jesse watches the chain of command fall apart from afar as the United Nations dig deeper into the dirty work they requested Blackwatch do.

And Jesse knows the truth in all this. He was there as world leaders gave Gabe orders that Blackwatch was obligated to follow to a T. UN approved missions that now lie under the scrutiny of International courts. News outlets report on the gruesome details as people around the world begin to lose all trust in the once heroic Overwatch.

When the Switzerland headquarters get blown apart, Jesse cannot breathe. He watches flames lick a red skyline, a camera shot from a news helicopter. Jesse has his phone out.

He calls Angie and she picks up immediately. In tears, but relatively uninjured. She tells him that she’s been dragged to a hospital for smoke inhalation and a dislocated shoulder. She sobs into the phone as she tells him about all the people who died. The ones she tried so hard to save, but couldn’t. Jesse talks to her until she falls asleep over the phone. He hangs up and texts her to let her know he’s still around should she need him.

He calls Gabe next.

Gabe doesn’t pick up.

He calls again and again and again and again and again. Jesse shuts his eyes tight and tries his hardest not to listen when the news anchor begins to list known victims of the explosion.

 

**A SMALL LIST OF CASUALTIES:**

**Breanna Page  
** **Allison Joiner  
** **Alexander Choy  
** **Jack Morrison  
** **Gabriel Reyes**

 

His hands tremble as he tries to call Gabe again.

And again and again and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ch. 3 probably won't be posted until sunday 'cause it's canada day tomorrow and i plan on celebrating!!!!!
> 
> again it's unbetaed so sorry for any mistakes!   
> the next chapter is around 9k words so buckle up because hanzo is finally gonna be introduced!


	3. Chapter 3

Jesse readjusts to being a wanted man. The problem is that he tries desperately to do good, but the world does not take kindly to mercenaries, and there’s not a lot of work available to him.

Angie stopped checking up on him once he made the Most Wanted list. Not because she wanted to, by any means, but because Jesse insisted any contact with him would put a target on her back. It’s much the same with Fareeha, though she roped Jesse into a dinner once a month. They agreed to change the location every time.

They’re in Vancouver this time around, mostly because Fareeha wanted to visit her dad, but also because the weather is nice this time of year. It gives them an excuse to eat by the ocean. Jesse regrets it only for the seagulls and pigeons eyeing his food. 

The waves lap at the seawall while Fareeha talks about her promotion to chief within Helix Security. Jesse feels a swell of pride in his chest. In return, he tells her about the arms dealer he took out the other day. She looks mildly impressed as he recounts the story of him jumping off a three story building to escape a firing squad.

“Certainly, you injured yourself?” She asks with a smirk.

“I did no such thing. I’ll have you know I am an expert at rollin’ into my falls,” Jesse scoffs.

They miss the next month’s dinner. And the one after that. And again until it’s been a year since they’ve seen each other.

Helix keeps getting hired independently to deal with the sudden surge of Talon activity. Jesse’s been working in back alleys to try and wrangle some of the Talon members himself. Every time he goes undercover, or blows someone’s brains out, or uses less than ethical methods of gathering intel, he thinks back on Blackwatch.

 

**HINDSIGHT IS 20/20:**

**Jesse can recognise that  
** **Blackwatch was rotten to the core.  
** **He misses it anyway.**

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

“I need a favour.” A synthetic sounding voice speaks over Jesse’s phone at two in the morning.

“Genji, is that you? It’s ass o’clock in the mornin’, what the fuck?” Jesse is sleep stricken and incoherent, but he’d still manage to recognise Genji’s voice on his deathbed.

“Yes, and I need your help.” Genji is speaking quietly, like he’s hiding.

“You don’t speak a lick to me for years and now you’re askin’ for favours?” Jesse’s back aches as he sits up, flicks the lamp on beside his bed. He’s in a dingy motel room in Montreal, with moth eaten curtains and a rock solid mattress. It’s been four years since he’s had contact with Genji.

“Please, Jesse,” Genji says, “You know what’s coming up right? In barely a week?”

“You talkin’ about your ‘anniversary’? I thought you were past that by now,” Jesse asks.

“I died and then got turned into a cyborg, I’ll never be over it,” Genji deadpans, “But that’s besides the point. I have moved on, yes, but I need you to help me get to Japan regardless. To Hanamura.”

Jesse stops. He heaves a long sigh and rubs a hand over his face.

“You gonna try and talk to your brother?”

Genji doesn’t say a thing. Jesse takes that as a yes.

“Why don’t you just go yourself. You’re a big boy, I’m sure you can get on a plane without a parent or guardian.”

There’s another extended period of silence before Genji speaks.

“Mondatta doesn’t want me to leave. Zenyatta thinks I’m ready to confront Hanzo, and I’ve been preparing myself for this for ten years, but ultimately, Mondatta is in charge and he has no intent to let me leave Nepal,” Genji says, “So I need you to book me and you a couple of plane tickets, because if I did, Mondatta would certainly find out and lock me in my rooms to stop me.”

“You realise you don’t actually have to listen to him, right? You don’t owe him any obedience,” Jesse huffs.

“I owe him respect.”

“So you’ll just go without him knowin’ instead, alright.” Jesse already has his tablet out looking for plane tickets to Japan. “What is this about a ticket for me, too?”

“I’m terrified. You’ll be there for moral support. And first aid, should I need it,” Genji laughs, voice lighter with Jesse’s lack of refusal.

“If Hanzo hurts you again, I’ll kill ‘im myself.”

“Well, aren’t you just a knight in shining armour?”

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

Genji has always hated flying. Jesse is ready to snap, dealing with Genji’s fidgeting in his tiny plane seat. He keeps clicking the tray down and back up, and he’s turned the light above his head on and off at least a dozen times. The flight attendant is shooting dirty glances at them, and Jesse keeps mouthing “sorry” at her.

“You gotta calm down, Genji. Take a nap, darlin’,” Jesse mutters.

“I hate flying,” Genji says.

“I know, and you’re nervous as hell, I get it. You gotta get some rest, though, you haven’t got a lick of sleep in the last couple days.” Jesse grabs Genji’s fidgeting hand.

Genji looks up at him. His visor is off as per the request of airport security. His eyes are boring into Jesse’s.

“How am I supposed to sleep? I haven’t spoken to Hanzo since I was begging him not to kill me. Now, I plan to reconcile should he allow me. Who’s to say he won’t try to murder me again? Who’s to say I won’t be forced to fight him?” Genji whines, “I miss him. I know I should hate him for what he made me, but we have both suffered enough. I miss him, and I want my brother back, but who’s to say he’ll want me?”

Genji leans his head on Jesse’s shoulder. His shoulders shake, but no tears fall. Jesse watches as fidgeting fingers fall still, as Genji’s soft breathing evens with sleep. He doesn’t move for fear of jostling him awake.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

Genji comes back to the hotel room after his confrontation with Hanzo and he doesn’t say a word. He shuffles through the door, toward Jesse’s bed. Without warning, he falls onto Jesse and begins to cry with great, heaving sobs.

Jesse tries to soothe Genji with whispered words, and a solid hand on his back. It takes a long time for him to regain his composure. He rubs the tears from his eyes, sniffs and blinks. His cheeks are bright red under scar tissue.

“He sent his dragons after me, again. He didn’t recognise me until I sent them back,” Genji says, “I don’t think he really believed it was me.”

“You fought, then?” Jesse asks, standing to get Genji a glass of water from their hotel room’s small kitchenettes.

“I’d barely call it that. He stopped fighting back. He practically gave up.” Genji stares at the wall quizzically. “I know Hanzo, and he would never let a fight be so easily won. I had my sword to his throat and he didn’t even blink. He seemed—”

Scared. Overwhelmed. Panicked. Jesse can think of all the things he’d feel at the opposite end of Genji’s blade.

“Relieved,” Genji finishes.

Jesse hands Genji the glass of water and sits back down beside him. “So, what did you do?”

“I told him it wasn’t too late to find redemption.”

“And if there’s no redemption to be found.”

Genji’s features gather into a look of determination. “My brother and I have suffered enough. If I can find harmony, and a family, and happiness, surely he can find the same.”

“You’re talkin’ about the man who tried to kill his own brother,” Jesse says, “I think his ship has already sailed.”

“Well, I’m bringing it back to shore.”

“You know that’s not how idioms work, right?”

“It is now.”

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

Jesse is expecting the Recall notice from Winston. His phone dings on his lap where he’s sitting in a crowded bar. He glances down and sees the message from an unknown number. He knows who it’s from without checking based solely on the few people who know how to contact him.

He doesn’t respond right away, though he thinks about it. He calls Angie, who is ecstatic to hear his voice.

“Jesse! It’s been ages, how are you doing?” He can hear her smile through the speaker.

“Same old, how ‘bout you, Ang?” He asks.

She hums something positive and Jesse gets to the point of the call.

“You get the Recall? What’re you thinking?” 

“I did, yes. I’m involved rather heavily in a research project here, but I’m planning on heading out to Gibraltar as soon as my schedule allows,” Angie says, “Why? Are you not going to go back? You know it’s going to be a very different organisation this time around, right? No UN to get involved, no rivalry between Reyes and Morrison, no covert ops that go under the radar of the world. It’ll be better this time, Jesse.”

Jesse grunts in vague approval. “I just don’t know if I can do it again, Ang. I know, logically, it’ll be different, but what if it isn’t? I’m a bad luck charm, it’d be better if I stay away.”

“It’s up to you, Jesse. Just know that there will always be a home and a family waiting for you,” Angie says softly.

Fareeha calls a few hours later, overjoyed about being included in the Recall despite not ever having being a part of Overwatch. Genji also sends a message that says “I’ll see you soon, cowboy”. Jesse accepts that his friends are fully expecting him to go to Gibraltar.

He still waits two weeks before sending Winston an affirmative. It’s another week until he’s on a boat between the mainland and the island.

The sun is setting when he steps into the main area of the Watchpoint. It’s been converted into a sort of lounge, with couches and armchairs and a large television. A young girl is playing video games while Genji sits beside her, cheering her on. Angie is there, Fareeha is there. Faces he recognises.

There’s one other, someone that Jesse recalls, though he’s never actually met the man in person.

Hanzo Shimada has perched himself on the on the edge of the couch beside Genji. His legs are tucked in and his elbows are hugged close to his torso, like he’s trying to take up as little space as possible.

Genji looks up, grinning, until he follows Jesse’s gaze over to Hanzo. He’s immediately on his feet, getting in between his friend and his brother. Jesse sees red.

“Genji, I love you, I do, but you better have a damn good reason for why I don’t put a fuckin’ bullet in that bastard’s head,” Jesse growls.

Hanzo lowers his head. The girl on the couch glances over at the altercation, eyes wide. She quickly stands and leaves the room, abandoning her game. Smart move.

“Jesse, I have forgiven him, and you best do the same. If you lay a finger on my brother, there will be consequences.” Genji hasn’t sounded this livid in years.

“Why should we trust him?” Jesse yells.

It’s Angela, this time, who steps up close to Jesse, hand on his shoulder. Her voice is quiet enough only so he can hear it. “None of us are thrilled about this arrangement, Jesse. We’ll be civil for Genji, alright? We’ll just have to keep a very close eye on his brother.”

Jesse bristles, but nods. He watches Genji’s shoulders relax. Hanzo stays rigid, head still down. Good.

Genji mutters something in Japanese to Hanzo before turning back to Jesse. He strides forward and slings an arm around Jesse’s shoulders. “Well, come on, I’ll introduce you to all our newbies!”

Jesse is unceremoniously dragged away from the room, reluctantly turning his back on Hanzo.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

**A CHARACTERISATION OF HANA SONG:**

**1\. Hana is a force to be reckoned with  
** **2\. Hana is a quicker draw than Jesse himself  
** **3\. Hana hides all her wit and intelligence  
behind ** **an innocent smile**

 

Hana reminds Jesse of what Fareeha was like at nineteen, She’s loud, and abrasive, unapologetic, and utterly charming. She sits down next to Jesse at dinner on his second night at the Watchpoint and before he knows what she’s done, he’s spilling about why he hates Hanzo so much.

To give her credit, she’s got a face that boasts being a very good listener. He coughs himself to a stop halfway through the story of Genji’s recovery.

“Why the hell am I tellin’ you this?” Jesse scoffs around a mouth full of potatoes.

“I’ve been told I’m very easy to talk to,” Hana says, eyes twinkling and a smile on her lips.

Jesse laughs, “That sounds about right.”

She doesn’t ask anymore questions, so he stays silent as they finish eating. She stands and heads back into the kitchen. Jesse watches as she leaves with a plate full of food in her hands and a look of determination on her face. She heads toward the rooms everyone is staying in.

Jesse notices Hanzo isn’t at dinner and wonders just how much Hana will be able to pry out of him.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

The first time Jesse properly speaks to Hanzo, it is a two months after his arrival at the Watchpoint at two in the morning. Jesse is on his way to the kitchen when he collides with a solid mass of warm flesh. When he looks down, he is face to face with none other than Hanzo Shimada.

Hanzo is red and splotchy in the face, and he’s got a bottle of clear liquid tight in his hands. His eyes are wide when he sees Jesse. He flinches back, like he’s afraid of him. Jesse huffs.

“Can’t sleep?” Jesse asks.

“No. I was heading over to the cliffs. To see if that would help,” Hanzo stutters. His voice sounds much more formal than Genji’s ever did.

“Genji keeps tellin’ me I gotta be nice to you,” Jesse says, pinching the bridge of his nose, “So what do you say we share that bottle you got there and learn how to be friends?   


Hanzo’s eyes go impossibly wider. Jesse has a feeling he’s the first one to extend an olive branch to him besides Hana and Genji.

Hanzo nods and they leave the Watchpoint, stepping out into the warm ocean breeze. Hanzo leads the climb up the cliffs with ease, despite already being mildly intoxicated. Jesse stumbles behind him, breathing heavy as his metal arm keeps him sturdy on the side of the island.

At the top, they share Hanzo’s saké and don’t talk about Hanzo and Genji’s past. Instead, they settle on talking about Hana. Hanzo says that she’s by far the most welcoming presence in the Watchpoint, besides his brother. Jesse laments that she keeps pulling him into her livestreams just to watch him lose miserably in multiplayer games.

The sun rises and Jesse still hates Hanzo, but perhaps with a little less passion behind it.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

Jesse keeps a very close eye on Hanzo, he can’t help it. A decade under Gabe’s steady hand teaches a person to never let their guard down, and to know a potential threat as well as your own weapon. It’s just his training kicking in.

Jesse knows Hanzo spends most of his nights on the cliffs, drinking instead of sleeping. Jesse joins him in the midst of his own nightmares and insomnia. Sometimes they stay silent, staring up at the stars through the Watchpoint’s light pollution. Other nights, they talk. It’s a warm night in August the first time Hanzo opens up, telling a story of when him and Genji were children. He tells Jesse about going to the Sakura festival in Hanamura every year, and how Genji would always beg Hanzo to buy snacks from every vendor.

Jesse knows Hanzo prefers tea, but will drink coffee relentlessly to counter all those sleepless nights. He drowns the bitter taste and caffeine in so much sugar and cream that the coffee is closer to white than brown. He’ll finish a whole pot on his own, within a half hour of wandering into the kitchen, and by the end of it, he’ll be less hungover and more privy to holding a coherent conversation.

Jesse knows Hanzo slips up with his English far more than Genji does. Forgetting words and stuttering his way through certain sentence structures. Jesse wonders if it’s because of countless years Hanzo spent avoiding most social interaction. There’s not a lot of opportunity to practice another language with no one to talk to. If Jesse cuts down on the idioms and slang he uses when Hanzo’s around, no one has to know.

Jesse knows Hanzo is tired. Bone-deep tired, the kind of tired you can’t run from or sleep away. Jesse can see it in the way Hanzo tips to close to the cliffsides, in the bottles of alcohol he goes through like water, in the risks he takes on even the simplest of missions. When Jesse mentions it to Genji, he gets a grim sigh.

“My brother would greet death like an old friend, at this point,” Genji laments, “I’m trying to make the prospect a little less tempting.”

Jesse still hates Hanzo, but he loves Genji like hell. He decides to help where he can.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

Jesse is in charge of making dinner for the Watchpoint, and Hana has weaseled her way into helping him. She’s chopping jalapenos for Jesse’s pozole while he tries desperately to remember the exact ratio of spices his Ma used. Hana has had a shit eating grin on her face since she walked in.

Halfway through her pile of peppers, she opens her mouth. “I see you’ve been spending a lot of time with Hanzo, lately.”

Jesse groans, “Don’t you have someone else’s business to stick your nose in, Hana?”

“I’ll happily involve myself in everyone’s business thank you very much.” She finishes the jalapenos and moves onto the onions. “C’mon, Jesse. Give me details, we haven’t had an uncomfortably personal conversation in ages!”

“I told you a shit ton about Deadlock just last week,” Jesse says.

“Please?” Hana smiles. “Just let me know why the sudden change of heart toward him?”

“Genji was worried. If you couldn’t tell, Hanzo’s barely a hop, skip and a jump away from offing himself. I figured I’d take over suicide watch every once in awhile,” Jesse says.

Hana’s face falls. “Man, way to get morbid with it.”

“It’s the truth. I don’t really give a shit about what happens to Hanzo, but Genji would be crushed if his brother died. If keeping Genji happy means I gotta befriend his asshole, kin-killer of a brother, then so be it.”

“I didn’t know you felt that way about me, cowboy. I’m touched, truly,” A voice rings out from the kitchen’s doorway. Hanzo stands with his shoulders loose and his eyes drooping.

“Well… I—” Jesse stutters.

“It’s alright, I get it. I hate me too, you know? It is a universal sentiment at this point.” Hanzo smiles, sloppy and filled with teeth. His hair is a mess, half falling out of its ponytail.

Hanzo swings past Jesse and Hana, opening a cabinet that has a few bottles shoved into the back corner. Hanzo swipes the one that looks to have the highest alcohol content and moves to leave. Jesse blocks his path.

“Maybe you shouldn’t drink no more, Hanzo,” Jesse mutters, able to smell whiskey emanating off of Hanzo’s clothes and breath.

“I am a grown man, McCree. Let me make my own terrible decisions,” Hanzo snarls.

He pushes past Jesse’s outstretched arm, but stops in the doorway. He looks back.

“Your stew smells delicious, please let me know when it is ready to eat.”

The doorway is vacated. The pozole simmers on the stove while Jesse and Hana star in Hanzo’s wake. Hana clears her throat.

“I can’t believe he’s gonna actively stay alive for some soup,” She mutters.

“Hey, it’s fuckin’ good soup,” Jesse laughs, feeling slightly hollow.

He sends Genji a text to keep an eye on Hanzo. Genji asks what Jesse did, but he doesn’t reply.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

They’re on a mission to Busan, in the middle of winter. Jesse is slightly hungover from the bottle of vodka he shared with Hanzo the night before. They got over the incident in the kitchen quickly in favour of their late night rendezvous. It had ended with them falling asleep, leaning heavy on each other on the floor of Jesse’s room.  Hanzo wasn’t around when Jesse awoke, but Jesse attributed that more to the coming mission than anything else.

Hanzo is sitting beside Jesse on the dropship. The turbulence is rough. Jesse can see Genji’s tight grip on his armrests from across the ship, and Hanzo seems to be similarly anxious. He keeps cracking his knuckles and hasn’t stopped bouncing his leg since they took off.

Jesse rolls his eyes. Fucking Shimadas. Lena’s the best pilot they could ask for.

Outside the windows it is dark and storming. Ice crystals cling to the corners of the glass, and the wind makes the whole plane rattle and shake. Angela is sitting at the small corner table, doing what looks to be sudoku puzzles. Fareeha sits beside her, reading on her tablet. They occasionally exchange a few words of conversation, soft and smiling. They both blush and stare when the other isn’t looking. Jesse nearly laughs at their predictability.

Hana stands apart from everyone else, fiddling with her MEKA, phone propped up and recording her for a live vlog. She’s got a small toolkit open beside her and is digging around under a panel in the front of the suit while she answers questions from her viewers.

“Sure hope you’re not fixin’ that thing this last minute,” Jesse calls over the roaring engines, interrupting Hana’s stream.

Hana laughs, “Not a chance. I’m seeing if I can cut the self destruct delay by a bit. Gives our enemies less time to run away.”

Jesse can see the chat on her phone blow up with even quicker questions and demands.

“It also gives us less time to run away,” Hanzo mutters.

Hana still hears the soft comment. “Well, maybe if  _ someone _ was more keen on using the comm. system, they wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire so often. Honestly, it’s like you’re trying to get yourself killed.”   
  
Everyone falls silent. Jesse shoots Hana a “what the fuck?” look, and she at least has the audacity to look guilty. Everyone’s eyes are on Hanzo. He just hums and lays his head back onto his seat. A moment passes and Hana goes back to her stream, Angie goes back to her puzzles, and Genji goes back to breaking his armrests with the force of his nervous grips.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

Talon is taking advantage of the disorganisation of Busan. An influx of activity from the giant omnic breaching from the ocean, as well as an omnium booting back up, has the military and private forces stretched thin. Hana caught wind of Talon readying themselves to attack during a festival being organised as a bright spot in this time of terror.

Just like Talon to try and ruin something meant to be exciting and safe.

The Overwatch team arrives a day before the festival is set to start. They’ve been hired under the guise of being a private security company in order to avoid any outside suspicions. Everyone has uniforms with fake logos ironed onto the breast pocket, baring Fareeha, who’s staying on standby in her Raptora suit should things get dicey. It helps that the suit has affiliation with Helix rather than Overwatch.

Hana disappears that night to go visit her family. When she comes back to their hotel, it’s with a wide smile and a full stomach. She says that she missed her dad’s cooking, and her mom’s hugs, and the way it feels to play Starcraft back at home.

Jesse spends his night watching whatever movies are on the hotel room’s television. At around eleven, a knock on the door announces Hanzo. Jesse lets him in and they both watch an old action film with bad CGI.

In the final act of the movie, Hanzo takes a deep breath.

“I want to thank you. You have been kind to me when you didn’t need to be. When you shouldn’t have been anything less than cruel. I came to Overwatch looking for new purpose, and redemption. I did not not expect anyone to be on my side beyond Genji,” Hanzo says, “I know you weren’t partial to me to begin with, and that the basis of our friendship is primarily built on alcohol and insomnia, but this team, especially you and Hana, has become the closest thing I’ve known of family since I was very young.”

“I—” Jesse stutters for a moment, “Hanzo, I won’t lie, I hated you for a lot of years for what you did to your brother. Watchin' him beat himself up, tear himself apart over shit he didn’t have a say in. But when you came here, I realised: Genji had time, and people to help him through all his issues. He had Angie, and me, and Gabe and Zenyatta. We were with him every step of the way. But you? You were manipulated, and abused, to the point where you were forced to kill your own brother, and you had no one waitin' on the other side for you.”

 

**A SCENE ON THE TELEVISION:**

**There is an explosion.  
** **The main character doesn’t  
** **look at it, but his plucky sidekick  
** **and beautiful love interest do.  
** **Jesse McCree watches the screen  
** **instead of the man beside him.**

 

“I know it’s ten years too late, but you deserve to have people in your corner. People to help you through your long overdue recovery,” Jesse says, “Besides, I have a spectacular track record with Shimadas.”

Hanzo snorts. The layer of tension seems to lift from the room. Hanzo presses closer into Jesse’s side, sets his hand in the tiny space between them. He turns to gaze up at Jesse and Jesse’s heart stutters. Something about being on the receiving end of such an earnest, tender look.

There’s a calloused hand on the side of Jesse’s face, the gentlest touch on his cheek. He moves smoothly, and Hanzo moves in perfect tandem. Their lips meet. It’s chapped, and soft, and slow. Two men who have spent too long running hold tight onto a sweet kiss in a run down hotel room.

It ends. Hanzo stays tucked tight against Jesse’s side, their hands tangled together. The action movie ends and a comedy comes on next. They fall asleep together and in the morning, Hanzo is still there. 

Jesse greets him with a kiss.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

There’s a fine layer of snow along the street. Thousands have gathered to the curb to watch the parade go by. There’s a stage set up, and street vendors every fifteen feet selling art and food and cheesy festival souvenirs. Jesse is on parade duty with Angie and Genji. Hana and Lena are in charge of watching the crowd gathered around the stage. Hanzo and Fareeha watch over the whole festival from the rooftops.

It’s a beautiful festival, too. Blue and silver lights hang from every surface, people in elaborate costumes lead the parade, confetti and glitter fall from parade floats and the stage. It’s been awhile since Jesse has seen this much happiness in one place. Angie hasn’t stopped smiling, and Genji has popped his visor off so he can catch snowflakes on his tongue.

Most of the day is uneventful. Hana gets dragged into the parade as soon as someone recognises her. Jesse and Genji watch on in amusement as she’s passed between people, taking photos and signing autographs. She never misses a beat. Jesse’s gotta hand it to her: she’s a hell of a lot more put together than he was at her age.

It’s nearing ten at night when Jesse finally clues into something off.

“Hey, Hanzo, where are you at?” Jesse asks over the comms, “Anyone heard from Hanzo recently?”

“Last I heard he was heading to a more northern vantage point. Hasn’t been a peep on his end since,” Fareeha replies.

“That was over an hour ago,” Jesse says, “Hanzo, report in!”

There’s no reply. A sudden, deafening crack rings out into the air, echoing from the rooftop Hanzo was last on. All hell breaks loose.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

It’s been forever since Jesse has fought beside others, but he falls into step seamlessly. Talon agents swarm into the crowd, immediately taking hostages and firing potshots toward security. Genji and Angie leap into evacuation efforts and crowd control, while Lena and Jesse start picking off enemies who aren’t holding human shields.

“Some air support would be stellar right about now, Reeha,” Jesse shouts over the comms.

“It’ll be far too much collateral if I step in now, Jesse. Let Ang and Genji clear everyone out first,” Fareeha still sounds calm and levelheaded. That makes one of them.

There’s two more piercing gunshots as two police officers crumple beside Jesse. A shot aimed for him barely misses as he rolls out of the way.

“If you get an opportunity to take out that sniper, that would be swell! Rooftop to the North-East,” Jesse says.

“Affirmative,” Fareeha states. Jesse can see when her suit launches her skyward and toward the sniper’s perch, “I’ll keep an eye out for Hanzo, as well.”

Jesse doesn’t reply as he throws a flashbang and takes out another Talon agent. He can see Hana fighting off a hoard of them in her MEKA and he turns to help her out.

The air vibrates as another sniper shot hits to his left. Another just over his head as he desperately ducks and weaves. He throws himself behind a parked car, leaning briefly out of cover to shoot the men advancing on Hana.

He doesn’t hear the approaching footsteps until it’s too late.

He looks up to see shotguns. Even in the heat of battle, Jesse would recognise them anywhere. The scratches in the pain, the letters carved into the metal. There are clawed, smoke wreathed hands on Gabe’s guns, and Jesse shudders to think where this creature found them. 

The fingers twitch on the triggers, but do not fire. Black smoke creeps up Jesse’s legs, surrounds his torso, tightens around his bones. He feels ice cold and burning hot all at once. A gravely voice echoes, far too loud and ethereal over the sounds of screams and gunfire.

“I thought I taught you to watch your six, kid,” the creature growls, “You’re getting sloppy.”

Jesse, halfway into fumbling Peacekeeper into a ready position, stops. He levels the barrel of his revolver with the white mask.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but you better call off your men,” Jesse stutters.

“You know exactly who I am, Jesse. It’s why you haven’t shot me yet.” Under the rasp, Jesse hears a familiar cadence. Jesse’s hands shake.

“Get the fuck out of here. No one else has to get hurt,” Jesse says.

“That’s not how this works, kid,” the creature says.

His arm raises. The butt of a heavy shotgun collides with Jesse’s temple. Not quite enough to knock him unconscious, but enough to throw him to the ground with blurry, disoriented vision. He writhes around for a moment, struggling to raise his arm. He aims Peacekeeper at a retreating, smoky back.

“Boss! Gabe, please,” Jesse cries out.

He watches as Gabe’s figure doesn’t turn around, gliding away until he disappears into the chaos. Peacekeeper stays fully loaded.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

It takes a minute, but Jesse eventually rights himself, dragging himself to his feet. He can’t stop himself from thinking about Gabe, terrifying and all wrong. Jesse swears to himself that it can’t actually be Gabe under that mask, it  _ can’t  _ be. But Jesse would recognise him anywhere, his voice, his guns, the way he moves through a battlefield.

“Jesse, do you read? What’s going on over there?” Hana comes in over his earpiece.

“Just a little scuffle. All good now. Any sight of Hanzo yet?” Jesse stutters.

“No go, he’s still MIA.”

Jesse sighs, keeps a hand on his remaining flashbangs, and starts moving toward the building he last saw Hanzo on. He picks off a few more Talon agents on his way over, but mostly leaves it to the others. Fareeha has joined in on the ground fight, now that the civilians are cleared out, and Jesse takes that to mean the sniper has been dealt with as well.

The building Jesse enters is a hotel, and he can see staff and hotel guests cowering behind counters and furniture in the lobby. He barely pays them any mind as he heads toward the elevator.

It’s a bizarre moment of utmost calm. He hits the call button, waits for the elevator doors to open. He steps in a rides it to the top floor, tapping his foot to the soft music playing through the speakers. As soon as the door opens, he runs forward the stairwell and up toward the roof access.

Hanzo, it turns out, is not very hard to find. A trail of blood leads Jesse to the corner of the roof where Hanzo is curled into a ball, loosely clutching at his stomach, coughing violently with lips stained red. He is barely holding onto consciousness. A woman stands over him, looking through the scope of the most high tech sniper rifle Jesse’s ever seen.

Jesse groans internally. The sniper definitely wasn’t dealt with. Thank you, Fareeha.

The woman whips around when she hears Jesse approach, his spurs not exactly the picture of stealth. She smiles at him, wry and furious, and Jesse recognises her instantly. So many pictures, so many stories, so many fruitless rescue attempts. And a bullet through Ana’s head.

“Amélie,” Jesse says, barely a whisper over the wind, “You killed Ana.”

“Amélie Lacroix is dead.” She has her gun raised.

It is a night of hesitation. Jesse refuses to make the same mistake twice.

He raises Peacekeeper, but Lacroix is quicker. She ducks away from his shot and raises her own rifle. Jesse is about to scoff at the concept of her using a sniper at this close of range, but then a hail of bullets rains down toward him, her sniper now more similar to an assault rifle. He swears and ducks behind an air duct.

They go back and forth for a bit. Jesse leaning out of his cover to fire at Lacroix and her doing the same to him. He catches her in the shoulder, and she just barely nicks his thigh, but neither of them are getting to any conclusions. There’s a pause of Lacroix’s side of the roof and then a soft click.

The next time Jesse looks around the duct, he is faced with a small, liquid filled explosive, newly adhered to the metal. He hears a subtle hiss before a cloud of gas enters his lungs. Through burning eyes and a hacking cough, he watches Lacroix disappear to another rooftop via grappling hook. Jesse doesn’t see where she goes after that.

Instead, he’s dragging himself over to Hanzo, still curled on the ground, surrounded by red. God, Jesse doesn’t know the last time he’s seen this much blood. Hanzo’s breath is rattling, barely even there. His skin is ashen and cold when Jesse moves his hands away from his stomach.

“Jesus Christ. Ang, I need help, right now. I’m on the roof of the hotel. Hanzo’s bleedin’ out,” Jesse yells into the comm. He presses his own hands tight on the gaping wound through Hanzo’s middle. There’s little chance he’ll survive a sniper shot from what had to have been very close range.

“Come on, darlin’, just keep breathing a little bit longer,” Jesse whispers. A whimper struggles past Hanzo’s lips as Jesse presses harder to staunch the still steady blood flow. “Just a bit longer. Ang is on her way, okay? You’ve made it this far, you’re not givin’ out on me yet.”

Jesse doesn’t see Angela approach, but he does hear the soft tapping of her shoes. There’s a golden glow that instantly surrounds Hanzo, but there are wounds that the Caduceus staff can’t heal.

“This will keep him stabilised until we get to the dropship. Help me get him out of here,” Angie says, face stern, “Hana and Fareeha are finishing up on the ground. Lena’s starting the ship.”

“Genji?” Jesse coughs.

“I’m here, Jesse,” a voice says right behind where Jesse is knelt. Genji sounds panicked and breathless. It makes sense that Genji would come to help his brother.

“Help me lift him, Genj?” Jesse looks back, desperate.

Genji nods.

Between the two of them, they make it back to the dropship. Angie keeps her staff trained on Hanzo, but the colour doesn’t return to his face. When they get to the ship, the others are already waiting. Angie sets to working on Hanzo immediately, Fareeha by her side handing over tools and doing as she’s told.

Jesse sits down heavy. Hana helps him patch the graze on his thigh. In return, he puts butterfly bandages along the gash along her arm. He wants to stay awake, make sure everyone is feeling 100%, but as soon as he puts the last bandage on Hana, he closes his eyes.

He dreams of masks and black smoke and so much blood.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

There is a vivid line of blue lights that shine through the back of Hanzo’s shirt. It took Angie three weeks and six surgeries to reconstruct his spine. His souvenir is the herring bone metal along the centre of his back lit up with cerulean LEDs.

“We match now, brother!” Genji laughed the first time Angela powered up the mechanics.

Hanzo squints and frowns. Lifts one arm and then the other. Angie asks him to wiggle his toes and touch his nose with his index finger, and he does just that, a dent still between his eyebrows.

“It’ll be a long recovery, and I can soundly say you won’t be cleared for missions for a good while,” Angie says while writing on her clipboard. Jesse grabs Hanzo’s hand and squeezes. “You’ll be back with me three times a week for physical therapy, and recalibration once your body readjusts to the enhancements.”

Hanzo looks mildly concerned. He keeps lifting his arms, bringing Jesse’s hand with them. His muscle mass has atrophied and his body shakes as it moves. A tight look of concentration mars his features each time his fingers convulse.

“We’ll be with you every step of the way, Hanzo,” Genji says, placing a solid hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. Hanzo flinches, but only a little bit.

He nods, makes a fist with his free hand. “Dr. Ziegler, if you would allow it, I would appreciate if I could go back to my own quarters tonight.”

Angie smiles, still rough around the edges from lack of sleep. “I suppose so. If one of your companions here would be so kind as to help you, I have a wheelchair you can use to get around the base. I’ll expect you here regularly for your physio, though. No skipping out!”

Hanzo gives a very quiet smile. “Of course, Doctor.”

Jesse and Genji help Hanzo into the chair. Jesse pushes him through the halls to the room Hanzo stayed in before his stint in medical. He expects a dusty room when he opens the door, but it’s still relatively neat.

“Huh, I guess someone was in here keepin’ your room all clean. You need a hand gettin’ into bed, darlin’?” Jesse asks, moving the chair to beside Hanzo’s rickety bed frame and thin mattress.

“I would like to be alone, I think,” Hanzo mutters.

“Hanzo?” Jesse tries to brush Hanzo’s hair back, but Hanzo flinches away.

“Please, Jesse.”

Jesse leaves Hanzo in his room, staring at the wall.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

There are two weeks where Jesse doesn’t see Hanzo very much. Occasionally, he’s dragged to a team dinner by Genji, and Jesse managed to catch a glimpse of him in the med bay doing physical therapy with Angie, but overall he disappears.

Fareeha sits next to him at breakfast. “You’re moping, Jesse. It’s really bringing the whole room down.”

From where they’re seated Jesse can tell that’s not true. Hana and Lucio are laughing at Lena trying to juggle oranges; Genji and Zenyatta are engaged in an animated conversation about the merits of movie and TV reboots; Winston is lumbering in with a smile and a new recruit in tow, a man with greying hair and a mask covering most of his face.

“Let me wallow in peace, Reeha. Go bug the new guy.” Jesse chugs down the dregs of his coffee. He nods at the new guy. “What’s his deal anyway? The mask is kinda dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Maybe he’s horrifically ugly and doesn’t want anyone to know,” Fareeha suggests.

There’s a shuffle behind them before Angie settles beside Fareeha.  Her eyes are still half closed and her hair is a mess. She leans into Fareeha’s shoulder as she drinks her coffee.

“Maybe he’s hiding his identity. It would make sense if he was someone well known and didn’t want anyone catching on,” She suggests between sips.

“If you don’t want someone to recognise you, you change your hair, get a few piercings, grow a beard. Make it so you blend in. Wearin' a mask just draws in more attention,” Jesse says, loud enough for the newbie to hear, “Anyway, we already have at least two internationally known celebrities.”

The man’s head tilts toward them, but he doesn’t say a word. Jesse eats his toast nonchalantly, hiding his disappointment at the lack of response. After a moment, the man turns his focus back to Winston’s in depth tour and initiation into Overwatch.

Jesse finishes his food, and as he’s leaving, Winston flags him down.

“McCree! I was wondering if you could take our new recruit down to the training rooms! I would do it myself, but I have a couple missions to organise before the day is out. You know how it is, right?” Winston belts.

Jesse looks to Fareeha and Angie in mild panic. Both of them just shrug and smirk. Helpful.

“Uh, I guess I can, yeah,” Jesse says, “C’mon then, I don’t have all day either.”

The walk with the man is painfully awkward. Not only is it utterly silent, but the man seems to have a solid idea of where he’s going without Jesse’s guidance. Who the fuck does he think he is.

“Hey, so who exactly are you? Like, gotta name? Or a call-sign, maybe?” Jesse asks, halfway to Training Facility A.

“76,” the man says. His voice is gruff and vaguely synthetic through the mask.

“Ominous, I can dig it. You ever thought about tonin' down the whole ‘rough and tumble’ dramatic thing, though? It’s gotta get tirin',” Jesse asks.

“You haven’t gotten any less antagonistic, have you?” 76 says.

“Excuse me?” Jesse stops. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You don’t know me!”

76 chuckles, “Do I not, Jesse? You’re going a little grey around the edges, but I gotta say the scruffy look definitely still suits you well.”

Jesse wracks his brains desperately for a name, for a face that would fit under the mask. He doesn’t have to deliberate long before 76 is taking his visor off.

 

**SOMETHING JESSE THOUGHT HE’D  
** **NEVER SEE AGAIN:**

**Faded blue eyes, a  
** **straight nose and a  
** **violent scar that marrs  
** **his features  
** **(that part is new)**

 

 

“The mask isn’t just for show, you know? I’m mostly blind, since the Swiss Headquarters incident, and if I want to see, I gotta keep the visor on.” Jack Morrison smiles at Jesse as he puts the mask back on.

Jesse steps back, “No.”

“Sorry?” Jack says, looking confused.

“No, I’m not dealin' with this shit again. You’re dead! No one else is allowed to come back from the fucking dead, okay? Go crawl back into your grave. We don’t need more fucking ghosts here!” Jesse yells.

Morrison’s eyebrows go up, “Is Ana around, too?”   
  
“What did you just say?” Jesse’s voice drops a violent octave.

“I guess that’s a… no?” Morrison has the audacity to look calm, “I probably shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Jesse can’t breathe. First Gabe, then Jack and Ana in the same instance. His throat isn’t working. He stumbles back, catching himself on the wall.

“Whoa, kid. Are you alright?” Morrison reaches a hand out.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Jesse spits.

He turns and runs.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

Genji finds him on the cliff, chugging vodka like water and chain smoking his remaining cigars. The sun has just barely set, and a red glow is cast over the ocean.

“Jack Morrison is alive. Gabriel Reyes is—” Jesse coughs, “Somethin' along those lines. Ana Amari is allegedly alive, accordin' to Morrison.”

Genji sighs, “Not allegedly, any more. She contacted Winston today during Morrison’s big identity reveal. Fareeha’s a mess.”

“God, I didn’t even think about what’d she do with this. Fuck, I should go talk to her.” Jesse moves to get up, but the world sways and Genji grabs his arm to keep him on the ground.

“I think Angela has that one covered,” Genji says.

“Oh.”

Jesse offers Genji the bottle, but he declines.

“How’s Hanzo doin’? I haven’t seen him in ages, it feels like,” Jesse slurs.

“He is—” Genji changes his mind on the offer for the bottle, taking it from Jesse’s hand. “Hanzo doesn’t very much like being useless. He came to Overwatch for a purpose and for redemption, and to be rendered incapable of basic movement has thrown him back into his previous state of emotional turmoil and self-deprecation.”

“And how are you doin’ with that?” Jesse asks.

“I am trying my best to spend time with him, to remind him he’s not alone, but he’s stubborn and evasive,” Genji says, “More often than not, I’m chasing him down just to speak to him. He locks the door to his room, and he demanded no one be present for his physio, barring Angela. He doesn’t eat with the rest of us. I would like to think he sneaks food at some point in the day, but I’m worried he’s not even putting the effort into that. When I saw him yesterday, it looked like he hadn’t slept in days.”

“Well, here’s to our shitty, dysfunctional families,” Jesse mutters, raising his cigar to the sky.

Genji lifts the bottle. “Hear, hear.”

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

“Jesse, I’m having a crisis!” Fareeha is halfway to hysterical, tucked up at the headboard of Jesse’s bed.

Jesse hands her a blue, sparkly mug. The hot chocolate inside is piled high with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. He presses himself right into her hip and wraps an arm around her shoulders.

She’s got tear tracks down her cheeks, and her breath is hiccoughing out of her lungs, short and sharp. It doesn’t stop her from sipping from the mug, her shoulders jumping under Jesse’s arm. After a long, sweet gulp, she squeezes closer to Jesse’s side and lets herself cry heaving sobs.

“We mourned her! I brought flowers to her grave every day that I could! I had to call my dad to tell him! I—” Fareeha shudders and buries her nose into Jesse’s shirt. He wonders how she can stand what he’s sure is the overwhelming stench of sweat and cigar smoke.

“I know, sweet pea,” Jesse mutters, rubbing a hand along her back.

“She’s been alive this whole time. How the fuck didn’t she tell me? She let me grieve and move on.” Fareeha is still crying, but her face is scrunched up in anger. “Does she think she’ll just be able to waltz back into our lives, no questions asked?”

Jesse refrains from telling her that he would probably welcome Ana with open arms. Wrong place, wrong time. Fareeha takes a furious sip of hot chocolate and it clings to her upper lip.

“If she shows her face, she’s gonna get what’s coming to her,” Fareeha growls, but uncertain as if she doesn’t quite know what that is.

Jesse hums at Fareeha’s anger and sadness in all the right moments until she finally falls asleep, mug of hot chocolate mostly done and head squished between Jesse and the headboard.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

It is a torrential downpour when a woman in blue, with a braid peeking from her hijab, stumbles into the kitchen of Watchpoint: Gibraltar. The rush of dinner stops, all chatter and clinking of silverware and plates dying in the wake of the new stranger.

Or not so stranger.

 

**ANA AMARI, MANY YEARS LATER:**

**Captain Amari has let her hair go  
** **completely grey, and her eyes  
** **go completely soft.  
** **There is still bite in her teeth  
** **and claw to her nails, but  
** **she carries with her the  
** **softness of a freshly overturned,  
** **empty grave.**

 

Jesse stands, and so does Fareeha. But where Jesse moves toward Ana, Fareeha storms out of the cafeteria, followed close by a very worried Angela. Ana has the thoughtfulness to look guilty as her eyes follow her daughter out the door. She wrings her hands, but does not dare be the first to break the silence.

Jesse moves up close. He takes in the slope of her shoulders, the ridges of laughlines in her face, the glow of her eyes, the tiny smile gracing her lips. He’s utterly furious at her (for leaving them behind, for letting him think she was dead, for bringing so much pain to Fareeha) but he still hugs her with the careful ferocity of a grateful son.

Ana is warm and solid and so very alive. There is a pulse through her veins, and her lungs expand and contract as she fights the beginnings of tears. Jesse doesn’t bother to resist his own, instead letting himself cry freely into her scarf.

Greetings are shared all around and eventually, the cafeteria returns to its previous liveliness. Fareeha and Angela do not come back, and Jesse doesn’t see them again until morning. When he does, Fareeha is still red-rim-eyed, and Angie refuses to detach herself from Fareeha’s hip. Their fingers tangle on the bench at breakfast, and Fareeha’s grip tightens when Ana walks in.

Jesse pretends not to notice.

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

Jesse finds himself in the smallest training facility on the Watchpoint a week later, eager to let off some steam from the mounting stress and tension around the base. He is surprised to find someone already there, using the barely equipped room to practice.

Hanzo is in the middle of target practice. Jesse watches him struggle to pull his bowstring back to its full draw, miss the target, and yell out in frustration. His face is red. He throws Stormbow to the ground, but even that doesn’t have the power it would have before his injury. He sullenly goes to retrieve the bow, trying yet again to draw an arrow.

Jesse takes a deep breath and walks into the room. “You know, Angie’d have a fit if she saw you in here tryin’ to use your bow.”

“And what say you?” Hanzo pants, glaring down at the floor.

“I say you should at least be usin’ a weapon that’s a little less strenuous. You know we got no shortage of guns and ammunition, right?” Jesse tries to smile, but Hanzo still looks miserable and wan.

Hanzo scoffs. “If I wished to use a gun, I would be using one. I’m trying to test myself.”

“Darlin’, you don’t gotta ruin all your progress to try and prove a point. We just want to see you recover, and you’re kinda takin’ a step in the opposite direction.” Jesse moves forward, places a soft hand on Hanzo’s shoulder.

He can see as Hanzo relaxes, unwinds into the tips of his fingers. His shoulders slouch and tremble. His clenched fists tense and release, Stormbow clattering to the ground. Hanzo’s eyes close as he heaves a crackling sigh.

 

He does not cry, but when Jesse pulls him close, he slumps into a solid chest and breathes with rattling lungs. Jesse is kind and stays utterly silent through the whole ordeal. By the time Hanzo pulls away, gathering himself back together, the sun has begun to set and a red glow is cast through the high windows of the room.

 

“When was the last time you ate, ‘Zo?” Jesse asks, oh-so-soft in the dim, evening light.

 

He watches Hanzo’s brow furrow. He shrugs.

 

Jesse sighs. “Well, c’mon then, let’s get some food in that belly of yours. I think it was Hana and Lucio cookin’ tonight, so it should be something good. You always like how spicy Hana makes her bibimbap.”

 

Hanzo smiles, tiny and weak, but it’s the first glimmer of hope Jesse’s seen since Hanzo’s injury.

 

“I would like that,” Hanzo says.

 

Jesse reaches out a hand and Hanzo grips it tight.

 

“I thought you would.”

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

“Do you ever just feel—” Hanzo stares up at the stars, tracing Cassiopeia with his eyes, “Exhausted? With everything?”

 

Jesse is chain smoking his good cigars, and Hanzo has opened his most expensive bottle of saké. They spent most of the day with Genji and Zenyatta, in a weird, morose celebration of Genji’s not-death. Zenyatta said it would help Genji and Hanzo come to terms with their renewed relationship. It was mostly awkward, but Genji made ramen and everyone left feeling a little bit lighter.

 

“I used to,” Jesse replies, “But it got better, eventually.”

 

“I think I want to do that.”

 

“Get better?”

 

They don’t talk about the alcohol at Hanzo’s fingers, or the way his feet dangle over the cliffside with reckless abandon. The same way they don’t ever talk about how Jesse’s self sacrificial nature and the smell of smoke on his clothes. Jesse takes a drag from his cigar, long and tasting like tobacco and citrus.

 

“I think I want to get better.”

 

Jesse remembers a scrawny kid with a revolver and blood on his hands, he thinks of a girl with braids in her hair and big shoes to fill, he thinks of a boy filled with anger and built half out of metal and half out of blood. Jesse thinks of too many people with pasts to make up for and futures they built with their own calloused hands.

 

Jesse thinks of a man with enough regret to fill an ocean and a death wish that isn’t going away anytime soon.

 

“I think better is a pretty good goal, darlin’,” Jesse says.

 

They stay on the cliffsides until sunrise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go, thanks for reading!!! This is one of the longer things i've written and I hope that you guys are happy with it.
> 
> unedited yet again so let me know if there's anything i need to fix
> 
> ps thanks for casually ignoring the timeline i set up. i'm very aware that it's super off from what the actual canon is but i fiddled with it for my own purposes

**Author's Note:**

> i've got the other 2 chapters already written! i'll get them out as soon as i get a chance to edit them. thanks!!!!


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